What Do You Do When The Problem Is You?
by gymjunky71
Summary: Set in season 5, after Sam unlocked Lucifer's cage. Sam has been punishing himself by not eating and Dean doesn't notice till it's almost too late. Sam's abilities from the earlier seasons return as he regains his strength to stop Lucifer. Written in 2012. Re-Uploaded.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

Dean awoke yet again to the screeching sound of Sam struggling to find a comfortable position on his motel bed. He had to repress the urge to snap at his little brother. Since Sam went off to Stanford, Dean's 'little brother' had grown taller than him. Dean could remember all 200 pounds of Sam stomping along with him wherever the job dragged them. That was a year ago.

Now, Sam was a shadow of his former self. His jawline was stark, his cheek bones poked out, and he appeared to have lost all his hulking muscles. Now, Sam would drown in Dean's shadow, not the other way around. The blanket that had been tucked underneath Sam's chin got yanked down when he kicked his long legs out while trying a new position. Dean sighed inwardly when he saw the pressure bruises on Sam's shoulder blades and lower back.

His little brother's rib cage and spine swam beneath his pasty skin. Sam started to shiver and pulled up the blanket, his feet poking out at the end. A few moments later, the man's big feet began to shiver, too. Dean swallowed hard and bit his tongue. If it weren't such a 'chick-flick moment' thing to do, he would hold his little brother in his arms till the pain melted away.

It has been a little more than two months since Sam, unwittingly, opened the gate to Lucifer's cage. Dean has made it loud and clear how angry he was with Sam. How much he didn't trust him anymore, how disappointed he was, how betrayed he felt ... how much he didn't love him anymore. The last one was never said out-loud. Dean wasn't stupid.

He knew his apparently hostile and indifferent attitude towards Sam's continuing failing health can only be interpreted that way. Before all this, Dean would have gotten to the bottom of the problem and found a solution. But, it's difficult to admit when the problem is yourself. He had hardly spoken to Sam since the event. The silence between them was making him nauseous.

He knew Sam more than felt the same way, he could see it right in front of him 24/7. He knew he had the power to make all this go away. If only he could swallow his own pain. If only it didn't feel like swallowing a semi-truck.

" _Help_... _me_ ," he heard an almost unrecognizable voice breathe.

Dean sat bolt upright in his bed, his eyes wide as he stared at Sam. His brother was still asleep. Dean knew he wasn't faking. Sam had been talking in his sleep since he could remember. He sank back onto his bed. Sam started to groan and he curled up slowly into a ball on his bad, the squeaky springs inside the mattress screaming as he did so. The groans sounded so weak. Dean bit the inside of his cheeks and turned his back on Sam.

" _My ... arm_ ," Sam gasped, " _hurts._ "

Dean rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder. What he saw nearly made him jump out of his skin. Sam had rolled over again and he was staring right at Dean. Something wasn't right in Sam's mood-ring eyes. They were glazed over and red. For a moment, Dean doubted his brother could see him at all.

"Sam?" Dean leapt out of his bed and tumbled to the ground when he forgot to lift his blankets off first; he gripped Sam's wrist and knelt at his bedside. "What's going on with you?"

* * *

Dean groaned as he lifted Sam up till he was leaning against the wall, sitting on his pillows. Just because Sam had lost a ton of weight, didn't mean his little brother was light. It was just like Sam to wait till he hit rock bottom before reaching out for help. But, again, Dean wasn't an idiot. He knew that he wasn't exactly the easiest person to talk to. That fact was intensified over the last two months.

How could Dean really expect Sam to turn to him for help after all that has happened? Was Sam in so much pain, felt so scared, that he felt like he had no choice but to hope Dean would help? Sam couldn't even hold his head up straight. He was blinking heavily and his head was rolling from side to side against the wall. Dean clicked his fingers in front of Sam's eyes and grasped Sam's pointy chin, turning him to face Dean.

"Sam, talk to me!" Dean demanded, his deep voice like a growl.

Dean patted Sam's chest with his free hand, trying to get his attention for the first time in weeks. When he pulled his hand back he found it covered in cold sweat. Knowing immediately that it wasn't his, Dean pressed the back of his hand against Sam's forehead. It was very warm.

Sam's lips pulled a little into a smile and he closed his eyes, "I thought you'd never say that again."

Sam's head felt very heavy in Dean's hand, "No ... _SAM_?"

But, Sam didn't respond. Dean got to his feet as he wedged his arms underneath Sam's armpits and the other underneath Sam's knees. He tried to lift him at once but felt pain in his lower back.

" _Argh_! Sammy, I can't do this alone! You gotta help me out!" he hissed as he strained to lift his brother again. "I'm not that young anymore!"

Finally, Dean managed to lift Sam off the bed. He staggered a little backwards but found his sense of balance. Although the weight loss was a big indicator that Sam's health was declining, Dean knew that if Sam hadn't gotten thinner he would never have been able to lift him off of the bed on his own. As he stumbled to the bathroom, Dean thought back on the day. Were there any signs that he should have picked up on?

This sickness can't have just infected his younger brother today. Dean recalled seeing and hearing Sam bump into a few pieces of furniture. He remembered fighting back a laugh when Sam accidentally closed the passenger door on his own ankle that morning. Dean glanced over at that ankle and saw a purple bruise from where the door had closed on his skin. He pushed the motel bathroom door open with Sam's feet, having to switch sides so that he wouldn't have to use Sam's head instead.

Dean stooped over the shower floor and, with trembling legs, he began to sink down to the floor to lay Sam on the cold tiles. On the precarious way down, Sam jerked awake. He groaned loudly when Dean slipped down the last few inches and Sam landed a little too hard on the tiles.

"Sorry, Sammy." gasped Dean, "You're heavier than you look."

Sam was propped on the shower wall. He started to fall sideways away from Dean as his eyes began to droop heavily again. Before Sam's head could smack against the wall, Dean sprung forward and used his hand to take the impact.

"Sam, I'm going to turn on the shower now." warned Dean as he set Sam's head gently against the wall.

"I ... feel ... cold," breathed Sam, each word pushed out with too much effort needed.

That worried Dean. Well, the fact that Sam felt cold when he could have sworn he had felt a mounting fever. Dean took his hand away from the shower handle and dropped back down to his knees beside Sam. He placed his palm on Sam's forehead.

"Sam, you're _boiling_." Dean disagreed, pushing Sam's curtains of bangs away from his face. "I've got to get your temperature down. You'll feel better."

Sam shook his head weakly, "No, Dean. Listen."

Sam looked down into Dean's eyes. Sam's eyes were still red. In fact, they seemed to have gotten more irritated. Dean waited for Sam to continue for another few seconds then he got to his feet. Dean turned the handle all the way to cold and turned the shower on. Sam flinched, coughing when the water went into his mouth and nose. Dean sank back down to the ground and dragged himself over to lean against the wall with Sam. Dean watched his brother squint through the cold sprinkles.

"Ah, screw it," said Dean as he scooted himself into the shower with Sam.

He wrapped his arm around Sam. The shower actually felt quite good. Maybe Dean was catching whatever was plaguing Sam. If that would be the case, Dean would have no choice but to take them both to the doctor. Only one of them was allowed to get sick so that the other could take charge. Sam always had the weaker immune system so Dean was usually the care taker rather than the patient. Sam lifted his head and turned to Dean.

"I'm sorry, Dean." he said thickly, water running into his mouth.

Dean hesitated for a moment. His brother eyes, though still bloodshot, were begging for forgiveness. Dean couldn't tell if Sam was crying or if the shower was making it seem that way.

Dean nodded, "I know you are, Sam."

Sam's head fell onto Dean's forearm, his eyes closed again. He would have slid into the wall if Dean's arm weren't wrapped around his shoulders. Dean's drawstring pants and large t-shirt were sticking to his body like papier-mâché. Sam's boxers were soaked to his skin. Dean hated what he saw of Sam's body. He could see his little brother's rib cage even with Sam slumped the way he was.

"When this is all over, we're going to a buffet." Dean told Sam, giving him a squeeze.

Dean felt something drip onto his forearm that wasn't water. He squinted through the showering rain and saw blood dripping from Sam's nostrils.

" _SAMMY_!"

* * *

Dean slipped his arm back from around Sam's boney shoulders, set him gently against the wall, and scrambled over to the shower knob. With slippery fingers he managed to turn it off. He pushed himself back across the wet tiles and kneeled beside Sam.

"Sammy, can you hear me?" he asked, his voice trembling. "Sam! Open your eyes!"

Dean pushed Sam's eyelid open. Sam's pupils didn't dilate with the ceiling light. He was unconscious. Dean tried to lift Sam up but now the tiled floor was slick with water. He dragged the rug over to stand on to provide traction as he gripped beneath Sam's armpits.

He didn't want to leave Sam in the shower lest he slip down and hurt himself further. With the luck his little brother has, he'd drown in a quarter of an inch of water. Dean gave a great tug on Sam to begin dragging him and Sam jerked awake again with a yell of pain.

" _Dean_!" Sam gasped, his chest rising and falling rapidly. " _Put-me-down_! _Let-me-go_!"

"Sammy!" exclaimed Dean, happy that his brother had come around again.

Sam was weakly trying to wrench his arms free of Dean's grip.

"Just let me get you on the bed again," said Dean, kneeling beside Sam one more time and speaking quietly so as not to irritate Sam further.

Sam shook his head.

"You can't stay here, Sam." pressed Dean, holding Sam upright with one hand between his little brother's shoulder blades and the other on Sam's chest.

Dean could feel Sam's heart shuddering beneath his boney chest. It was dangerously offbeat. Dean worried that Sam was having a heart attack.

"Okay, Sammy." said Dean, lifting Sam's drooping head to meet his eyes. "Don't you worry. I'm here. I'm gonna take care of you."

Sam lifted up a trembling hand, his mouth gaped as though it was too painful to close. The thick blood dripping from his nose was beginning to dry into a dark crust around Sam's lips. Dean searched over either of his shoulders through the open doorway for the motel room phone. It was agonizingly twenty-five feet away from him, set on the little table between their beds. Dean glanced back at Sam, trying to judge how long he could risk not being at his side.

All the color had drained from Sam's usually tan skin. The whites of his eyes were taking on a yellowy tinge.

Sam finally met Dean's eyes, "I-think ... I-have," he cleared his throat roughly, "... infection."

Dean thought that was a likely possibility. That could explain the weight loss and clumsiness. Even though Sam was a lanky giant of a man, he had been extra accident-prone over the last couple of weeks. He hadn't heard Sam talk much over the two months. But, his voice sounded raspy tonight. But, could an infection cause a heart attack?

Was Sam _about_ to have one? Dean placed his hand again on Sam's forehead. Is it possible that it had grown hotter?

"Sam, why? _Why_ didn't you tell me sooner?" growled Dean. "You're so stupid, you know that?"

Sam's chin drooped downward in Dean's hand, "I'm ... sorry."

Dean lowered Sam down on the bathroom rug, despite his little brother's weak protests, "Stop being sorry!"

Dean staggered when he got to his feet too quickly in his haste to reach the phone. He dialed 9-1-1. Sam's head rolled on the ground, facing Dean. His reddened, yellowed eyes were watching Dean. Sam's chest convulsed and his neck pressed his head into the black rug involuntarily. He tried to speak but it came out like a dry, shuddering cough. He tried dragging his arm along the slippery floor and snap his fingers but they were too slick.

"Hello?" Dean said loudly. "Yes! It's my brother! He's really, really sick. I think he may have had a heart attack." There was a moment's pause, "I have him on the bathroom floor. Century Motel, room two-seventeen. Please, hurry!" Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam on the ground, reaching for him. He admitted quietly to the 9-1-1 operator, "I'm scared ... that I'm losing him."

Dean dropped the corded phone back on the receiver but it fell off onto the table top. He hesitated for a moment like he was going to actually take the seconds required to set it back right. But, he shooed his hands at it and ran back over to Sam. Dean pulled Sam's torso onto his lap and dragged him out into the warm hotel room, Sam's stretched-out arm resting on Dean's elbow. Sam's skin was cool to the touch but Dean could feel the fever swelling beneath. It was a bizarre combination of fire and ice.

"Don't you die, Sammy." Dean said thickly, holding his brother so tightly his lips were in Sam's dripping hair. "Don't you even think about it. Don't you leave."

Sam listened to Dean's panicking heart and spoke clearly for the first time that night, "I'm not going anywhere."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

The room was quiet. So quiet, Dean could hear his own heart like the organ was beating inside his ears. Other than Sam's steadily shortening breath, Dean couldn't hear anything. The silence was excruciating. He couldn't believe that he had actually allowed this much silence voluntarily over the past few months. Dean started rocking back and forth, still cradling Sam in his lap.

Dean pulled his face away from Sam's hair while adjusting his position and watched spit and tears pull away with his lips. He turned a little every moment or so to check how much time had passed since he had made the call. _Where were they_? _What if they don't ... get here in time_?

Dean pressed his cheek against Sam's temple, "I'm sorry, Sam. I can't believe I let you slip through my fingers."

Sam suddenly gripped the front of Dean's baggy shirt surprisingly hard and tugged as his body convulsed again, his neck stretching back over Dean's arm. Dean heard Sam's mouth close so hard that his teeth _clicked_ together.

"Sammy, _please_." Dean begged, holding Sam's hand to his chest. "Please, don't go like this. You know, I can't kick your ass without you having a fighting chance. How would that be fair, huh?"

Sam's body slowly relaxed and his fingers unclenched the front of Dean's shirt but he still held his little brother's large hand there. Dean felt his brother shaking in the aftermath of that convulsion.

"Do you hurt now?" asked Dean, feeling stupid asking what would likely be a rhetorical question.

Sam peaked open his eyes and shook his trembling chin once from side to side, his mouth gaping again. He sneezed and more blood started flowing down his nose.

"Yeah, that was _real_ 'convincing." said Dean, trying to smile down at him but it probably looked more similar to a grimace to Sam.

Dean heard heavy footfalls and the sound of wheels rolling down the hallway balcony. The siren of an ambulance was ringing all through the motel. The flashing blue and red lights were dancing on Dean and Sam. Dean looked through the shads and saw that the sun was beginning to peak over the buildings across the street. _How long has this been going on_? Dean had lost track of time despite checking the clock every passing minute.

"IN HERE!" Dean yelled so loudly that Sam flinched tiredly at the roar.

Dean had yelled so loudly that he felt pain in his throat. He tried to clear it as he held Sam even tighter as though he would be protecting the boy from the help he had called for. He listened to a maid fumble with the door lock and salvation burst through the door ... along with a gurney.

Sam's hand weakly closed on Dean's shirt and tugged his attention, which had never left, back to him, "Stay-with-me, _please_. No-matter-what ... happens."

"I will," said Dean quietly, his lips still close to Sam's ear. "I won't leave you."

A female medical technician dressed in dark blue scrubs knelt down beside Sam, "How is he doing?"

"You're the lady from the 9-1-1," said Dean stupidly, thinking he recognized the voice.

"That wasn't me, sweetheart." said the 9-1-1 lady. "We all sound the same on that phone. We're going to need you to step back."

Sam's grip, which had been slackening, tightened again on Dean's shirt. His mouth had shut with an audible _snap_ again.

"Sammy, they're going to take good care of you." said Dean reassuringly, lifting Sam's torso up. "I'm gonna be right here -"

Sam's body convulsed again but weaker this time. While his body had been as rigid as a marble statue in the times before, now his entire body trembled in pain.

"He's seizing," said a male technician to the room at large.

"What's happening to him?" growled Dean as four other male technician's gently pried Sam off of Dean.

The medical technicians started babbling to each other, barking orders, and pushing Dean aside. Dean staggered to his feet as the four men, too easily, lifted Sam onto the gurney and began strapping him down just as Sam's muscles started to unclench themselves.

"My ... brother ... I," Sam groaned. " _Dean_."

Dean could see Sam struggling to keep his eyes open but he was so weak that they kept sliding down. He snaked through the crowd of nurses and doctors to Sam's side, entwining his fingers in that boney hand.

"Ready? Move-out!" said the '9-1-1 lady'.

Dean's hand was, a little roughly, pulled out of Sam's weak grasp as they started wheeling him out of the motel room. Dean stood numbly in the middle of the room, watching them maneuver their way through the narrow doorframe with their giant patient. He only left the room when they had all filed out. Careful to shut the door behind him, Dean patted down the hallway barefoot after the team of doctors trying to save his brother.

"He's unconscious," Dean heard one of the men say as they gingerly carried Sam on the gurney down the two flights of stairs to the parking-lot.

Dean said through gritted teeth, "No, Sammy. Come on, you promised!"

When they managed to lift Sam into the ambulance, the '9-1-1 lady' actually tried to tell Dean to follow them in his own car. Dean gave her a look that clearly conveyed _I dare you to stop me_.

* * *

Dean never once thought he was being dramatic. Although, many of the families waiting in the lobby at the emergency room would disagree. It must have been alarming how much Dean fought and swore at the doctors for keeping him and Sam apart. He had promised to stay by Sam's side. He hoped Sam wasn't scared ...

How strange was it that just a few hours ago he was trying his very best to forget about his brother. Now, Sam's the only thing on his mind. Dean stomped over to an empty chair between two families in the waiting area. They seemed to lean away from him but Dean didn't notice nor would he have cared. The look on Sam's face when Dean was refused to follow him into the emergency room would not leave Dean's mind's eye. _You're a brave one, Sammy,_ Dean told him in his head, _you can do this without me_.

But, could Dean do this without Sam? He tried hard not to sway into thoughts of what would happen if Sam didn't make it through. Sam was so malnourished, covered in bruises and cuts ... Dean hit his knee with his fist in a burst of anger. This made the two families on either side of him hustle to the other side of the waiting room.

Dean thought of people that he'd have to notify. Who, other than Bobby or Cas, would he need to call? Maybe Ellen and Jo, too. They'd have a right to know. He wondered, if Sam died, if Lucifer would 'save' him.

Maybe that was another reason why Sam has stopped taking care of himself ... why he lost interest in exercising and, apparently, eating, for that matter. So, whenever this infection struck, Sam's immune system was close to defenseless. Dean pulled out his cell phone and stood up out of his seat for better reception. He clicked the second button on his phone (the first was a direct line to Sam).

The person he had wanted so badly to talk to didn't answer, "Hey, Bobby. Uh, it's Dean. Listen, Sammy's not doing so well. Like, I don't know if you'll see him ... I just think you should get a ride from Cas over here. I wish that I could ... just once, call you with good news -"

"Dean McCowski?" called a nurse with a clip board by the emergency doors.

Dean froze for a moment, his phone still pushed against his ear with a shaking hand. He hung up his phone and slid it back into an inside pocket of his jacket as he made his way to the nurse.

"How's my brother?" Dean asked immediately.

The nurse seemed too bored to get into specifics, "Our surgeon recommends that you commit Mr. Sam McCowski in for psychiatric evaluation."

Dean swallowed deeply and frowned down at the old woman, "The hell would the need that for ... _ma'am_?"

The lady sighed, "During the physical evaluation, Mr. Sam McCowski had a few self-inflicted wounds underneath his biceps and along his calves."

Dean couldn't believe what he was being told. Maybe they had the wrong Sam _McCowski_. He cringed at the stupid last name he had come up with on the spot and wondered for a second where the hell he had heard it. Sam had always been a moody brooder. But, Dean would never have pegged Sam for being suicidal.

Sure, their job border-lined on that topic but never intentionally.

"How the hell do they know that they were 'self-inflicted'?" Dean demanded, his eyes wide.

The lady leaned against the door, "The hesitation marks are usually indications of these types of things."

"I can take care of him," said Dean flatly. "When can I see him? Why is he so sick?"

The lady flipped the page on her big clipboard, "Mr. McCowski had contracted an infection in the fifth self-inflicted cut on his bicep. This infection is spreading quickly because he had cut close to a major artery."

"Uh, huh," said Dean, clicking his fingers, "What else?"

"He has a fever of a hundred and seven. This high of a temperature is causing him to go in and out of consciousness. It can also explain his seizure-like episodes. It's so high that at some points he seems to be confused, complaining of feeling cold -"

Now the lady was giving too many painful details.

"Is there something wrong with his heart?" Dean interrupted pointedly.

The lady raised her eyebrows, "I was just getting to that. His low body weight in combination with his infection proved too much for his system to handle. I'm sorry to have to tell you this ... but, your brother's heart stopped."

Dean felt himself go numb, " _No_... no, no, no."

"He's on a ventilator and we're trying to rehydrate him," explained the lady further.

Dean's eyes widened, "So, he's _not_ dead? Maybes you should state that first, lady!"

The nurse seemed quite offended, "He is in critical condition and is expected to be for a day or so. His heart only stopped for a short moment so there shouldn't be any damage -"

" _Shouldn't_?" Dean said exasperatedly.

"Our doctor said to tell you it's lucky he woke up when he did. Your brother could have easily slipped away in his sleep."

Dean gaped at her, his self-loathing mounting.

"When can I see Sam?" Dean asked quietly, feeling his heart rate start to slow down a notch.

The nurse looked at the third page on her clip board, "We also would like to warn you that this fever can cause permanent brain damage. Memory loss is usually the first thing."

"Sam's strong," said Dean darkly, "he'll pull through good as new."

The nurse actually grinned up at him, "I'm sorry. I've been here for two days straight."

Dean nodded, "I feel 'ya. But, try to smile more." He was about to return to his seat when he swung around again, "You still haven't answered my question."

The nurse nodded as she opened the door to return to the emergency room, "Our doctor will come to get you once Sam has a room. It's a busy day so I'd have a seat if I were you."

* * *

Dean hesitated outside the window looking in to Sam's recovery room. They had been apart for only three hours. But, Dean found himself still feeling disturbed by the sight of his brother. It was as though he had been subconsciously hoping that, once he saw Sam again, Sam would be back to the way he looked two months ago. Sam's hair was damp with sweat and he was breathing with too much effort.

At least he was no longer on the ventilator. Although, judging by how much of a struggle it was for him to breathe on his own, Dean thought they should hook him back up to it. He could see that they were still trying to rehydrate Sam with the IV drip. He felt a gentle tap on his shoulder and he turned slowly so that he'd have time to rub his suddenly aching eyes.

"Mr. McCowski, you _can_ go in now." said the nurse who had brought Dean to this room.

Dean glanced over his shoulder back at Sam, who was twitching in his sleep as though he were having a nightmare.

The nurse opened the door for Dean and said to him as he passed her, "Don't try to get him to talk. He lost his voice after puking."

Dean breathed in deeply to try to relax and nodded, "No problem. Any _good_ news?"

The nurse glanced down at her clipboard, "He's fever has gone down some and there is no sign so far of permanent brain damage. But, Mr. McCowski, I must warn you that he's still in a critical state. We're trying to control the infection still so -"

"He can go either way," Dean finished the sentence for her.

The woman nodded, gave his bicep a squeeze, and walked away. Although Dean was surrounded in this crowded emergency clinic, he realized he had never felt so alone. He turned away from the door, shook his arms and cracked his neck. Then, he pushed the door open again. Dean felt so numb while walking over to Sam's bedside.

He had forgotten to make sure the door didn't slam so it was too late when he remembered. Sam flinched, turning away from the sound. Dean had frozen where he stood mid-step. He leaned a little forward to see if Sam had awoken. Sam's shivering chest, from either feeling cold or just sheer exhaustion, was still rising and falling slowly like he had fallen back asleep. Dean thought perhaps that were best.

Sam needed to build his strength back up. Dean picked up a stool when he found that dragging it would make too much noise and set it right beside the hospital bed that cradled his giant of a little brother.

Dean rubbed his face as though he could wipe away his own exhaustion, "You know, you had me going for a while, Sam. Did you really think I'd let you just slip away?"

He hadn't expected Sam to reply. But, it would have been nice to hear that deep voice again. Even if it were to yell at Dean for neglecting him, for not taking note of the symptoms, for not caring ... Dean knew he'd deserve it and he'd take it as strong as he could. But, he still felt that strange mix of guilt and vindication. He thought for a moment that if Sam had trusted him about what he was doing with Ruby, maybe he would have been able to save him sooner.

"Well, this is a load of crap we've dug our own graves in, huh, buddy?" Dean spoke to Sam's unconscious face; his eyes fell on the bandages wrapped around Sam's left bicep. "Why did you do this to yourself? Did you think of me? Like, even _once_? How would this affect everyone? If you want to forget about me, that's fine. But, what about Bobby? Or Cas, Ellen, or Jo? Do you really think I hate you _so_ much I'd rather have you dead?"

Sam squirmed in his bed. Dean's hope to finally see Sam's mood ring eyes looking up at him was dashed with Sam's sleepy, and hoarse, groan.

"Well, you'd be wrong, Mr. _McCowski_." said Dean darkly, "You can't die. Not now, not ever. I'm the oldest. I'm supposed to go first."

Dean gave a shuddering sigh, gripped the metal bars gated around Sam's bed, and rested his head on the tops of his hands. After peeking over his forearm one more time to make sure Sam was asleep, Dean finally let his tears spill forth when he rested his head back down on his hands. Dean nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt clammy fingertips brush his knuckles. His head skyrocketed back up and he looked over at Sam.

"Sammy?" he exclaimed, his voice thick after sobbing like a pansy girl.

Sam's eyes were open and he was looking at Dean. His mouth was gaped open and he tried to talk but it was strangled by his wretched throat.

"Don't talk," said Dean, gripping Sam's clammy hand in his own. "Doctor's orders, man."

Sam nodded slowly and made to push himself upward. But, Dean hoped to his feet, smacking the seat of the stool on the linoleum floor. The sound made Sam flinch painfully and again when Dean placed his hands on Sam's shoulders to push him back down.

"Just rest, Sammy. Don't get up, dude." said Dean.

Sam shook his head and mouthed 'thirsty'. Dean searched wildly all around the room from where he was standing.

"Water, water, water, water. Okay, there's no water. Why is there no water?" Dean said rapidly to himself. "Hang on _one_ second! Don't fall back asleep!"

Dean had no choice but to leave the room to find a nurse. Sam waited till Dean was gone to resume struggling to sit upright. He hissed when he managed to sit up on the bed. His head was throbbing on the left side so badly. Sam frowned when he noticed the IV inserted in the bend of his elbow, the clear tube now bent with the position he was in.

Sam felt his stomach give another agonizing churn. He felt so nauseated. He blamed it on the hospital smell, he blamed it on puking his guts out ... he blamed it on himself. Sam reached up his arm to press painfully on the cuts he had inflicted on himself and was surprised to feel damp fabric instead of a scab.

Sam flinched when the door swung open, letting in a flood of glaring light. His eyes were still foggy. But, he could distinguish Dean's hazy outline anyplace, anytime. He didn't recognize the short, dark blue blob following his older brother.

"Sam!" sighed Dean, "The hell are you doing? You lay back down!"

Sam squinted at them both and flinched when Dean placed his heavy hand on Sam's shoulder.

"It's alright, Mr. McCowski." said the nurse, bending down a little to press a button underneath Sam's bed.

Sam looked quizically up at Dean and mouthed 'McCowski'. Dean shrugged, inwardly shocked that he and Sam were sharing a joke for the first time in a long time. The top of the bed began to slowly rise up and Sam leaned against it once it was almost erect. He bunched the blankets up to his chest, noticing as he did so that he must be wearing a hospital gown.

The nurse placed a tray on Sam's lap with a bottle of water and a rather big container of a thick, dark substance.

"It's chocolate pudding," the nurse answered Dean's own quizical look. "It's extra-high in calories. Make sure he eats as much as possible. Getting back to a healthy weight will strengthen his immune system and then we can kick this infection fully in the ass."

Dean raised his eyebrows, impressed at the old woman's use of language, "Copy that."

The nurse patted Sam gently on his boney back and left them alone, closing the door carefully behind her. Dean noticed his stool lying on the ground and set it back upright to sit by Sam.

Dean patted his own stomach, giving Sam a goofy look, " _Mmm_ , Sammy. That looks tasty. Too bad it's all yours."

Dean's heart swelled when he saw Sam's lips finally pull into a small smile. With trembling, big hands, Sam tried to unscrew his water bottle but was not even strong enough to do that. Or maybe his hands were too slick with sweat. Dean could hear the desperation and frustration in Sam's congested throat.

"Here, let me take care of that." said Dean as he took the bottle away from Sam and opened it for him.

Sam raised the bottle to his lips and took a long drink, dribbling his gown and blankets with water because his arms were still shaking. He coughed hoarsely and the bottle was just about to slip down from his grip but Dean caught it in time. To try to lessen Sam's humiliation as much as he could, Dean decided to open the pudding container on the pretense of dipping his finger inside to get a taste.

"It's good, man." lied Dean; it didn't taste that spectacular but at least it didn't taste like the dirt it resembled. "Wish I was the sick one this time."

That was true. As he watched Sam pick up the metal spoon, Dean wished he could do something to make up for this. He wished he was in Sam's place. Dean frowned sympathetically when, just as Sam was about to take a bite of the hospital's high-calorie pudding, the spoon wiggled its way out of Sam's grip and landed with little _splat_ on Sam's blanketed lap.

Dean reached forward, "It's okay, man." he wiped the pudding off with Sam's napkin. "Let's try this."

Dean picked up Sam's spoon and the container of pudding. He scooped a tiny bit out and started to drive it towards Sam's mouth. Sam bit his lips closed, frowning at Dean.

"How else do you expect to eat?" Dean exclaimed with exasperation, "Let me help you this once. Don't be a bitch about it."

Sam tried to argue back but his voice sounded like a combination of rasping and nails on a chalkboard and gave him a short coughing fit. His throat was still too sore and damaged to defend what little of his dignity he had left. His shoulders sank and he rolled his bloodshot eyes, dropping his mouth open and closing his lips around the spoon when Dean got it in there. Sam was still so thin that even with a mouth full of fattening pudding his cheeks still looked hollow. As Dean neared the bottom of the large container, Sam's appetite grew quite alarmingly.

When there was no longer enough to scoop out, Sam sighed hoarsely which gave him another short coughing-fit. Without any other means of communicating, Sam pointed at his slightly distended stomach and at the recovery room's door in turn.

"You can't _still_ be hungry after _all_ that," said Dean, examining how deep the container was and grinning because of Sam for the first time in a long time. "You need to pace yourself, dude."

Sam let his head drop back onto his pillow. Dean hated that Sam was still breathing shallowly. He was still so weak.

"You know what, man? We passed a Golden Corral on the way over here. Let's go when they set you free," Dean then chuckled, "You'll be back to causing mini-earthquakes in no time."

Dean's smile faltered a little. The venomous sting of Sam's betrayal was still coursing through Dean's veins. But, he had come so close to losing Sam. Maybe this whole awful ordeal was unfortunately necessary to remind Dean of how much Sam meant to him. _Lesson learned_ , Dean thought to himself.

He wasn't going to let this happen again. If that meant his heart would still hurt whenever he looked at his younger brother, so be it. Sam's eyelids started to droop. Dean knew Sam was fighting falling asleep. Maybe time will help rebuild their bond.

Dean made a silent promise to always be there to make sure Sam had a lifetime to make up for it.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

 _Lucifer was examining the movement of Sam's wrist,_ _"Hmm, it hasn't been the same since you punched Dean across his face. Hasn't it?"_

 _Sam ignored him, focusing all his energy into trying to move his wrist on his own. Though he could not move his body voluntarily anymore, Sam could still see and feel everything. He could see that he was sitting by the check-out counter at a hospital. He could feel the icy metal bench beneath his jeans, the sticky floor that held resistance for his shoes, and the barely healed sprained wrist bone cracking whenever Lucifer revolved Sam's wrist._

 _"Don't waste your time, Sam. No one has ever been able to shake me."_

 _Sam let himself relax for a moment. Though he hadn't accomplished anything, he felt a shooting ache in his arms like he had just tried to lift the Impala._

 _Sam growled in his head,_ _"There's always a first."_

 _Lucifer glared Sam's eyes into the mirrored island table across from where they sat. This look sent chills down Sam's spine. He had never seen his own eyes hold so much aggression._

 _"I just died, didn't I?" Sam asked his reflection, "Why didn't you let me die?"_

 _With an unnervingly change to a kind tone, Lucifer asked, "I'm thirsty, aren't you?"_

Sam's eyes blinked open. His throat felt so dry it hurt too much to clear it with a cough. His head felt like his brain had been converted to lead. But, thankfully, Sam found that he could move it on his own volition even if it weighed as much as a bowling ball now. _Just a dream_ , Sam realized.

His eyelids felt so heavy it was exhausting to even blink. Sam turned his head to the right and saw a familiar, although foggy, outline of the one person he wished were there to save him in his dream. He lifted his trembling hand up from where it had been lying at his side and touched Dean's knuckles with his trembling fingertips.

* * *

Dean squeezed the Impala into a unusually small wheelchair parking spot that was directly in front of the entrance to Golden Corral. He had made good on his promise to take Sam there first thing after Sam was released. It has been five days of agonizingly slow recovery. The hospital wanted to keep him in critical care for another week but he managed to persuade Sam's way out of it. Sam had indeed gained back ten pounds, since his desperately-malnourished body was storing everything away rather than burning those much-needed calories.

One of the most embarrassing side-effects from the infection was that Sam got tired easily. Dean couldn't see much of a difference between what Sam looked like the first night and now. He'd just have to trust the hospital's scale. Sam's suicidal slits on his arms and legs were scabbed-over and most no longer needed to be wrapped-up. He had been doing that both to punish himself for choosing Ruby over his brother and he _wanted_ to kill himself before Lucifer could take over his body.

Now, he had resolved to never harm himself that way again. Especially since it was pointless. After the close-call five days ago, it was apparent that he couldn't die even after trying so hard to. Sam was not in a wheel chair, he didn't even need a cane. In fact, despite Dean's opposing opinion, Sam didn't need any kind of assistance while walking.

He felt significantly better since the third day at the hospital. His voice was starting to come back but it sounded very hoarse. Only Dean seemed to be able to understand him completely ... or maybe he just didn't want to tire Sam out with repeating himself. At least he could finally talk at all, which had been all he wanted to do with Dean for two months so Sam couldn't complain much. The one thing he'd miss the least about the hospital was that pudding he ate pretty much the whole time.

He could never eat chocolate again. Sam exited the Impala before Dean could open the passenger door for him. Dean gave his annual overview of Sam to see if he was about to fall over like a red wood tree.

"I'm fine, Dean." said Sam, his raspy voice barely above a whisper.

Too bad it still hurt to talk. He wanted to talk to Dean more. But, he had a feeling that if he talked too much his throat would bleed. Even after brushing his teeth, he could swear that he still tasted the metallic flavor of blood.

"Sure you are, Sammy." said Dean, nodding robotically as he held the door open. "I don't know about you. But, _I'm_ starving."

Sam smiled down at Dean as he made he limped passed his older brother.

"Just have a seat anywhere you'd like," said the woman behind the reception desk.

Dean nodded at her as he came up behind Sam, "Sounds good. Come on, Sam."

Sam followed Dean to the table right by the door. He could tell why it was empty. The sun was bleeding through the window and the table felt so hot Sam wouldn't be surprised if it started melting.

Sam was about to sink down onto the bench when Dean said, "Want me to go get the food?"

Sam shook his head and pushed himself back up, "I got it."

Sam led the way slowly to the plastic plates, metal utensils, and got in the long line around the large buffet table. Dean had patiently walked no faster than his younger brother's limps. Sam could feel Dean getting anxious because of how long everyone in the line was taking to decide what they wanted to eat. He hoped that it was because Dean was just as hungry as he was. Sam was the one that had been starving over the past few months.

But, a blind man would say Sam and Dean had switched places. He hoped that Dean wasn't letting his protective side get the better of him yet again. He had, mentally, spoken too soon.

"Can we get a move on down there?" Dean called down the line, "The world might as well have stopped on its axis at the rate y'all are goin'!"

Sam widened his mood-ring eyes down at Dean, silently telling him to shut-up. He saw the reception worker gaze warily over at them. He gave her a reassuring smile and placed a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Dean, we can wait. It's not that big of a deal," he croaked quietly.

Dean rolled his eyes and showed Sam the top of his head, tapping his plastic plate with his fork like a hyper drummer. Sam had his eyes on the fried chicken, corn, mashed-potatoes, and steak. He thought about pouring gravy on everything. He thought about insignificant things to ignore the nightmare that was haunting him since he first woke-up at the hospital. He would not allow himself to think of Lucifer or the fact that he was the devil's vessel.

"Sam, walk." he heard Dean tell him from seemingly far away.

Sam blinked hard, waking up out of his reverie, "Yeah, I hear ya."

He served himself mounds of the food he had already chosen which seemed to please Dean. Dean copied him. Sam knew Dean could eat a lot, even more than he used to sometimes. But, he wondered if Dean was only doing this so that Sam would not look like the pig he most certainly did not resemble. Sam sniffled and cleared his congested throat as he followed Dean back to their table which was still empty because it was the hottest part of the restaurant.

"Are you feeling okay?" Dean glanced up at Sam as they neared the table.

Sam nodded as he took a bite of his mashed potatoes while sinking down onto the bench. He didn't know if Dean was uncomfortable with the heat. But, Sam's lack of body fat and muscle made him quite cold so he was glad to be seated here. He could feel Dean's eyes on him which he refused to meet in case Dean suspected that Sam had a nightmare about Lucifer. Anyone else would never be able to tell.

But, he and his brother might as well have twin-telepathy.

"Easy, man." Dean said after a few minutes of Sam stuffing himself. "You might swallow your fork."

Sam finally met Dean's eyes and leaned back. He slipped his hands underneath the table to adjust his belt wider so that he wouldn't feel too full too soon.

Dean suddenly raised his eyebrows, "Crap, we forgot drinks. I'll go get water."

Dean waved his hand in Sam's face when his little brother tried to heave himself back to his feet. Sam reluctantly sank back down onto his bench. His quite distended belly underneath his overly-large, navy, hooded jacket felt like it had a lead weight in it but he forced himself to finish his plate. Sam watched Dean walking back across the room from the drink area. He wondered just how long he'd be able to hide the nightmare from Dean. He hadn't learned his lesson about staying silent.

He resolved to refuse to believe that he had died five days ago and that Lucifer had brought him back like the devil warned that he would.

* * *

Sam failed to sway Dean from giving him a thick fruit smoothie instead of a cup of water. His stomach felt like it was about to explode. But, continuing to eat distracted him from worrying that he was brought back to life by something a hell of a lot more powerful than a defibrillator. They had spent a little over an hour at the restaurant and Sam was limping even slower than usual. He hunched over so that he would stretch his taut stomach too much.

If he moved too quickly, he felt a wave of nausea. But, as long as he remained still for a few seconds the feeling passed. Sam placed a hand on his disproportionately swollen stomach hidden beneath his huge hoodie and pulled open the passenger door of the Impala. He lowered himself down carefully into the seat and sighed deeply. Dean was returning from paying for their meals and closed Sam's door on his route around the back of the Impala.

Dean started up the car and the vibration made some of the smoothie start to rise back up Sam's throat. Sam winced as the strongest wave of nausea so far rocked from his core. The pain distracted him so completely that he neglected to quell the slight whimper that escaped his lips. Dean, who has been on Sammy-high-alert 24/7 over the past week, did not miss it.

"You okay, Sam?" he asked.

Sam's grip over his stomach slackened as the nausea ebbed away, "Yeah, I'm good."

Dean didn't believe him. He chose not to tire Sam out with an argument and chose to rather keep an eye on his little brother through the day. Dean began to back out of the parking spot and the lurch brought food back into Sam's mouth from his throat.

" _Please_ ," Sam struggled to keep his rasping voice steady, "drive ... gentle."

Dean scrutinized Sam's trembling lips, "You got it, Sammy."

Sam felt his head grow heavier and heavier. As Dean maneuvered as carefully as he could through the parking lot back to the high way, Sam felt himself being dragged under. He hoped that sleeping would stop the nausea. He squeezed his eyes shut, scooted further down in his seat, and rested his heavy head on the top of his seat. His hands slid off of his stomach as he drifted off to sleep.

Dean hit a little bump on the highway and glanced at Sam. He gave a small smile when he saw that Sam was taking a nap. He hadn't outright told Sam that he forgave him for the huge mistake Sam made a little over two months ago. But, he hoped that his attitude at least hinted at that even if it weren't entirely true. His heart still ached, worrying that his little brother would betray his trust again if he gave it back too quickly.

Dean took the 87th exit and slowed down as steadily as the forty-three year old car would permit. Sam was starting to stir from his nap and he yawned as he looked up at Dean.

"Where we goin'?" Sam asked, wincing at the pain in his throat when he spoke too loudly.

Dean glanced down at him as he pulled off the road into a parking lot full of dismantled cars, "Bobby's. I think you and I could use a little vacation."

Dean had never noticed before how rocky the path was to Bobby's house. He tried to be sneaky when glancing over at Sam, trying to not give away that his concern for his little brother had not diminished. Sam pushed himself back upright in his seat. His stomach had thankfully settled during his nap and Sam didn't feel any nausea as he moved. Although, the pain seemed to have moved to his head which was aching a little.

Dean slowed the Impala and parked right outside Bobby's old house. His eyes fell on the wide plank of wood that had been nailed over one side of Bobby's stairs. He had almost forgotten, because of the most recent drama with Sam, that Bobby was paralyzed from the waist down. Sam seemed to be on the same brain wavelength. They really could have twin-telepathy.

Dean shut off the engine and exited the Impala. Not wanting to test if the nausea was truly gone, Sam heaved himself out of the Impala at a speed close to a chameleon. Dean was wrestling with their gym bags of belongings out of the trunk. Sam closed his door and sighed. He felt stupid for deliberately hurting himself.

He hoped that Dean hadn't told Bobby all the dirty details of Sam's failed suicide. Despite it being summer, Sam found himself shivering. His body temperature had lowered and the fever was about gone. But, he still felt cold, maybe even colder, like he had with the fever.

"BOBBY?" Dean called as he lead the way up the stairs with the stuffed gym bags on each of this shoulders. "Sam's fine now! Come look!"

Sam took a little break at the foot of the stairs while Dean pushed open the unlocked front door. He was breathing was a little too much effort needed. Before Dean could look around to check on him again, Sam waddled up the stairs and followed Dean into the kitchen inside Bobby's house. He sank thankfully down in one of the chairs at the little table and leaned back, groaning with tiredness. He felt like he could fall asleep again at any moment. The two brothers both jumped when they heard wheels being rolled over the wood floor.

"By all means, let yourselves in!" called Bobby, rounding the corner. "It's good to see you up with the livin', Sam."

Sam heaved himself back to his feet and shook Bobby's hand, "You too, Bobby."

"Whoa, Dean, you need to relearn the definition of 'fine'. Are you gargling rocks or something, boy?" Bobby chuckled halfheartedly up at Sam, "I can barely understand you."

Sam smiled down at him, "I wish that were the case."

"Yeah, Dean filled me in on your millionth brush with death. Well, I was about to check the bated line I have going in the river just a few ways away," said Bobby and he held up a hand when Dean made to stand up, "I'm paralyzed, not an invalid. I can do it alone. We're having fish tonight."

Sam worried that he wouldn't be able to eat anything more that day. He anticipated Dean getting frustrated with him but he knew his fit-to-burst belly would thank him later.

"Fine!" Dean called after Bobby and they listened to the man roll himself down the wooden plank. "Don't fall in! That water's cold and there's no way I'm diving in to rescue your ass!"

"Shut-up!" they heard Bobby yell from not too far away.

Sam grinned up at Dean and croaked to him, "Just because some people are a little under the weather, that doesn't mean you have to do every little thing for them."

Dean cocked his eyebrows as he folded his arms and leaned against the kitchen sink, "'A _little_ '? Sam, I almost lost you ... _again_. Are we talking about Bobby right now or _you_?"

Sam rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, "Whatever."

Dean squinted at Sam's closed eyes, "Yeah, 'whatever'."

Sam slipped back to sleep so easily it disturbed Dean. His little brother was still barely clinging to his strength. Maybe it was a bad idea to check him out of the hospital against the doctor's recommendations. Dean took the seat opposite Sam and twirled it around to sit on it backwards. He crossed his arms on the top of the chair and rested his head there.

Before he knew it, he was taking a half an hour nap as well. When Dean awoke, he had expected to smell fish on the stove. But, there was only Sam and him there. What was taking Bobby so long?

"Bobby?!" Dean called.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

* * *

Sam found Dean kneeling beside an overturned wheelchair on the dock behind Bobby's house. There was a bucket of three large fish in a bucket beside Dean. Dean heard Sam sniffle and looked up at Sam limping towards him.

"No, Sam!" He pointed up at his little brother, "Go back inside the house! You're too sick!"

"Where's Bobby?" Sam asked, running his hands up and down his biceps in the cold breeze he could feel through his hoodie.

Dean shook his head, got to his feet, and suddenly pointed at a place not too far from the ledge of the bridge.

"BOBBY!" Dean called through his hands cupped around his mouth.

There was Bobby, clinging to a half-submerged boulder about thirty feet from the bridge. Sam had to take a moment to find him since Bobby's soaked dark clothes did not make him easy to spot in the rushing river. Dean scooped up a pile of thick boat rope and threw one end over the railing. Half the rope sunk into the water. Sam gripped the back of Dean's shirt, fearing his brother would fall into the ice-cold river, too.

"Go back, Sam!" Dean yelled again, "BOBBY!"

Dean shook the rope and found that the other end was suddenly heavier. He tugged with all his might and started backing up. Sam wrapped his arms around him and walked backwards, too, sliding on the slick planks as he helped give Dean more leverage. He wished more than ever that he was 220 pounds again right now. Dean saw a hand grip the rope but it was slippery. Bobby's head rose out of the water, gasping for air. Dean saw Bobby's hands sliding quickly down the rope.

Dean dropped the rope, ripped Sam's hold off of his chest, and dove into the river.

Sam tried to yell but his voice got caught in his throat so it came out barely above a whisper, "No, Dean! Come back!"

Dean plunged into the icy water. Its coldness stung at his skin like knives but he fought to the surface. Dean called out for Bobby and saw him being carried further down the river. Dean struck out for him, plowing through the current with his strong arms. Sam reeled-in the thick rope and started limping as quickly as his weakened legs would allow down the shoreline, hardly keeping up with Dean as both the current and his swimming skills propelled him down the river towards Bobby.

When Dean neared Bobby, the old man went under the foaming surface. Dean dove beneath the rushing water, gripped Bobby's shirt, and kicked off from the bottom of the river. He held onto Bobby so tightly he nearly weighed himself down but he struck at the water harder than ever, keeping them both above the foaming current. Sam took a deep breath, trying to slow-down his panicky heart, and threw the rope out to them but Sam was losing strength very fast. Dean gasped for air as they went under again.

Dean heard the rope slap the surface of the water and saw it sinking down towards him. He gripped it and gave it a huge tug. He squinted through the murky water down at Bobby to see if he was still alive. He was losing oxygen fast. Dean tugged on the rope again and felt them being pulled up to the surface. When his head broke the surface she saw that Sam had wrapped the rope around the trunk of a nearby tree and was somehow pulling them in.

The rope was so slippery and the bits sticking out were like needles to Sam's skin. Sam was gripping the scratchy rope so hard his callused palms were being cut. The added weight of Bobby didn't help. Dean considered asking him to grip the rope but he didn't want to lose him again.

Dean knew there wasn't much time before Sam's adrenalin would run-out so he wrapped Bobby's around his waist and started to pull them up the rope, ignoring the terrible pain of his hands being diced by the rope. When they finally hit the shore, Dean dragged both himself and Bobby out of the water. He laid him on the gravely shore and collapsed beside Bobby, spluttering for air. He tried to move his legs but he was exhausted. He lifted his shivering arms to check his hands: they looked like they had been used as a chew toy for a wolf.

He turned his head to look down at his legs because he couldn't lift his head. From what he could see, his legs had several bruises and cuts from where his jeans had been battered and torn. He looked over at Bobby. The old man was struggling to sit up.

"You should," Dean gasped for air, "lay down."

Bobby relented and laid back down on the wet pebbles. Sam let go of the rope like it had suddenly caught fire and stumbled down the steep bank over to Dean and Bobby. His end of the rope had blood all over it, too. His heart was beating very quickly, too quickly. Sam hoped that he was just paranoid when he noticed he was having palpitations again. His hands had been chewed to rags by the rough rope.

His head felt so light and all he could focus his mind on was checking on the two people he cared about the most. Dean was pushing himself upright, spluttering as he tried to wipe his face dry on his leather sleeve. Bobby, though still paralyzed, didn't seem to have received any injuries from falling from the bridge.

"Next time ... I offer," Dean said with a voice trembling with cold, "... take it ... you ... ' _invalid_ '!"

The last thing Sam was aware of doing as he was closing the distance between himself and them was grinning at Dean's exclamation. His eyes rolled upward and his knees buckled beneath him when he was about fifteen feet away from Dean. Sam crashed with a flop to the pebbled shore.

"Sammy?" Dean breathed shakily, then his quivering voice erupted into a roar, "SAM!"

Though he was unconscious, Sam started convulsing as vomit rose up his throat and pooled in his mouth. The multicolored, chunky liquid was now overflowing his open mouth and dripping quickly down his hollow cheeks. Dean scrambled to his feet and slid back down to his knees at Sam's side.

"No-no-no-no," he whimpered feverishly as he lifted Sam upright and set him between his legs. "Why didn't you listen to me? No-no-no-no!"

Sam's head flopped forward, his gaped mouth still spouting everything he had eaten that day. Dean shook him, trying to wake him up before Sam would drown on dry land.

"SAM! Come on, man! WAKE-UP! SAMMY!"

* * *

Dean's body felt as heavy as lead. He dragged his feet down the hallway and pressed his hands against the wall to steady himself. But, he was overtaken by shudders as he began to sob quietly. He rested her forehead against the wall and hit the wall with his fist. Dean sank down to the wood floor, covering his face with his hands and knees, his shoulders hunched over and shaking.

He was squeezing his biceps so tightly it was like he was subconsciously punishing himself for Sam's second collapse in just a week. He didn't want to bring Sam to another hospital but he knew that he may have to. All the tension and resentment he had built inside him like an impenetrable fortress came crashing down with his tears. Dean didn't know how much more stress Sam could handle. He hasn't had any opportunity to relax and recover so that they could get back on the road and doing their jobs.

"Dean?" said Bobby quietly. "I got him to drink a bit of this Gatorade," he raised the bottle of red liquid. Dean shook his head and Bobby added, "It's better than nothin' at all. We need to keep an eye out for dehydration."

As he had become accustomed to the sound of his wheelchair, Dean did not flinch at the sound of it like he and Sam had earlier. He wiped his eyes as best as he could and gazed upward. There sat Bobby, whom had changed into dry clothes. He looked just as worried as Dean felt.

"This is my fault," Dean said quietly, gesturing to the room where Sam was sleeping.

Bobby glanced over his shoulder back at Sam's room from which he had just exited, "Dean, if anyone is to blame it should be me -"

Dean frowned, "No, no, no, no," he pointed a finger at his own chest, "I'm the one who forced him out of that hospital. I should have just let him stay. I just couldn't stand seeing him lying in that hospital bed anymore, Bobby."

"Dean, Sam needs you now. He needs you to be there when he wakes-up again," said Bobby, pushing himself closer to Dean and laying a hand on Dean's shoulder. "How about you go get changed. I still need to clean Sam's hands. They look like raw hamburger. I'll do the same with you once you're done."

* * *

Sam fidgeted beneath his blankets in Bobby's guest room. His entire body was vibrating and his eyes were moving quickly underneath his closed eyelids. He was breathing like he was running a marathon. His heart was pounding. He wanted nothing more than to wake up. He was hoping that what he was seeing was just a dream ...

 _"You're not one to give up easily. Are you, Sam?"_ asked Lucifer inside Sam's mind.

"Leave me alone!" Sam whispered shakily, out loud.

 _"When will Dean let that grudge go … huh, Sam? Well,_ I'll _admit it is unfair. He did break the First Seal. I'm on Team-Sammy."_

Sam coughed, "You're pathetic. You can't make me turn on my brother."

 _"Watch your tone, Sam. You're forgetting who's in charge now."_

Lucifer didn't break his glare into reflection of a painting until Dean acknowledged him.

"Who are you talking to?"

"An old friend." Lucifer replied; Sam had no control over his lips or voice.

"Oh?" Dean set the bags next to Sam and took a seat on the other side, "What's the name?"

"Which one?"

Dean looked taken aback and confused,"What are you –?"

Bobby came into view and interrupted,"Dean, where's Sam's insurance card? Please, tell me it isn't lost."

Dean turned to look at him,"It had better be in his duffle."

With one last look into Sam's apparently vacant expression, Dean scooped up the bag and walked away with Bobby after giving Sam a rough pat on the back. As he did so, a tear dripped down Sam's cheek. Lucifer's eyes snapped back onto Sam's reflection.

 _"Challenge me again and we'll be looking for_ their _insurance cards. Understand?"_

Sam felt his eyes dry up immediately. But, he could barely hide the elation that he did have some measure of control left.

Sam snarled,"You'll regret threatening them!"

Sam's body seized up but the shooting pain was spreading all through his body again. It was like he was trying to move his body in a mold of hardened concrete. Sam screamed inside his head as he pushed harder and harder. Lucifer loosened Sam's tense neck and swayed his shoulders as though nothing was going on inside. To everyone on the outside, that was all that they could see. Sam was alone.

* * *

Sam awoke with a start hours later. He sat bolt upright, realizing the scream he had heard had come from his own mouth. _It was just a nightmare_ , he told himself, closing his eyes from the darkness of the room, _he can't hurt you_. But, as Sam started to lean himself back onto the bed, he felt a stinging pain in his hands. He opened his eyes again, welling-up over the pain. Sam raised his quivery hands up till he could see them.

When he did so, he found that they were bandaged from his wrists to the tips of his fingers. He also noticed that _someone_ , likely Dean, had drawn a rude hand gesture on the back of his right hand. Sam could feel thread protruding and plunging through his skin ... stitches. He laid his hands down on his concaved stomach and squirmed downward till the sheet met his collarbone. He squinted around the room and realized he was laying in the guest room of Bobby's house that Bobby always had locked.

He felt a sting of annoyance that Bobby always made him and Dean sleep on either the floor or the couch. This bedroom was very bare and impersonal apart from the painting of a forest hung on the wall across from him. Just as he was beginning to wonder where they had gone, the door to his right opened, flooding light into the room.

"He's awake! Get the soup!" Dean called over his shoulder before rushing to Sam's side.

Sam raised himself a little on his elbows and allowed Dean to wrap his arms tightly around him. Sam winced at the pain Dean's enthusiasm inflicted on him. Dean grabbed the Gatorade from the dresser that was too far away for Sam to reach and opened it for him before handing it down to Sam. But, when Sam took a sip, he coughed roughly. His throat was so dry it felt painful to swallow.

"I know you're hurtin', Sam," said Dean compassionately as he knelt at Sam's bedside and gazed up at him. "But, you've got to drink. You're dehydrated."

Sam nodded and braced himself before dunking the rest of the drink down his raw throat. He looked at his older brother and knew that they were both thinking about Sam collapsing by the river.

"I blame the smoothie," Sam told Dean, his hoarse voice barely above a whisper.

"No, man, I think it's 'cause you pulled," Dean counted on one hand for a moment then waved that hand in defeat, " _something_ over three- _hundred_ pounds out of a raging river. Now, I may have only a G.H.D. But, I think that would fall under _any_ doctor's definition of 'over-exertion'. Sam, what the hell were you thinking?"

Sam tried to clear his throat but his voice didn't improve,"Don't forget _you_ grabbed it ... the rope. Maybe you were in ... a more dire situation ... than you're willing to admit."

"I know that what you did was selfless ... and that maybe, _maybe_ , we wouldn't be here without your recklessness. So, maybe I owe you a 'thank-you'-"

"You're welcome."

"- but, I'm stuck between that and slapping you upside the back of your stupid head."

Bobby rolled into the room at that moment with a tray in his lap carrying a hot cup of soup on a plate. Sam wanted to ask him how he gets up and down the stairs with his wheelchair but it was too painful to keep talking unless he was spoken to. Dean set the plate with the deep cup of potato-and-fish soup on Sam's lap. Sam lifted the cup up to his lips with a trembling hand and set it back down without taking a sip.

Dean frowned at him, "Dude, have you looked in the mirror lately? Beggars can't be choosers. Don't make me hold you down and force-feed you 'cause I will! You need to eat somethin' -"

Sam took a deep breath, "I have to tell you something, Dean." Dean waited while Sam hesitated to continue, "Dean ... I ... uh ... I think Lucifer brought me back at that hospital." Sam rubbed the left side of his chest right over his heart. "Maybe I even died by that river. But, he won't let me. He won't let me go."

Dean remembered the nurse telling him that they had to restart Sam's heart,"If that were even true, you're making it sound like a _bad_ thing -"

"I'm his 'vessel', Dean. That's why it's a 'bad' thing." Sam croaked sadly.

Sam watched the contents of his soup swirl around in the cup. It did smell very good and his appetite was rearing its hungry head again. He waited for Dean to respond. He shouldn't keep his suspicions a secret any longer. But, he didn't want to tell Dean about his nightmares.

That's all they were. Just nightmares, hallucinations, and unreal. Sam was thinking too much over something that he'll never let happen. Lucifer had to get a 'yes' from Sam. Well, no matter how many times the devil brought him back from the dead, Sam will make him wait for all of eternity if it's necessary.

Dean reached up and placed a hand on Sam's knee and shook it, "Sam, as long as I'm around, I won't let nothin' touch you. Dead or alive. I swear."

Sam looked over at him without moving his head. Their eyes met and Sam grinned down at his older brother and over at the man who had been more his father than his actual one.

Dean patted Sam's boney knee, "You sound like nails on a chalkboard. Eat that and quit whining, you skinny bitch."

Sam showed the crude drawing on the back of his bandaged hand to Dean and Dean laughed loudly. The sound was music to all their ears.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

* * *

Sam and Dean had always fantasized about staying in one place and relaxing. Vacationing was an alien concept to them. Now that they fallen down a slippery slope into one, both were getting restless. Well, Dean less so than Sam since the younger of the two brothers was virtually on house arrest. He felt like his poor health was like an ankle monitoring device binding him to Bobby's house.

To say that he felt like a 160-pound burden would be an understatement. Dean and Bobby left him alone in the house for several hours at a time, trying to sift out the fake cases from the dire ones. A week ago, Dean and Bobby had returned from expunging a poltergeist at an orphanage. They had been gone for four days straight. Sam started to call them rather than texting them on the third day because his voice was starting to hurt less when he talked. He was sucking on cough drops so much his mouth felt numb.

The only thing that had lifted Sam out of his funk was seeing the look on Dean's face when his big brother saw him. Some color had returned to Sam's skin, his hair looked healthier, and the twinkle in his eyes was starting to come out of the darkness. Sam felt so starved for human contact he could rival it with his food deprivation. Dean would accompany Sam on walks and spot for him whenever Sam felt up to exercising. He never admitted that he missed his partner in crime.

But, Sam could tell by how much Dean relented into hanging out with his little brother when he otherwise would have found an excuse to get away. He began to suspect that Dean's complete one-eighty on his attitude towards him might be out of some unwarranted feeling of guilt. Sam was seated at the small kitchen table as usual. He suspected that Dean was the one who had placed the couch cushion on the seat. Sam wondered if maybe being cooped-up in the house was starting to make him crazy ... well, more crazy than usual.

"I need to get out, Dean." he growled at his plate of microwavable chicken and canned corn.

They had run out of food since Sam was on a extended-binge to get back to his normal weight. Dean had fretted aloud that they didn't have enough for all three of them for dinner. Sam's feeling of being a burden to them redoubled when Dean and Bobby had forced their food on him. They had said something along the lines of 'if you won't eat it, it'll go in the trash, so don't waste it' when Sam insisted on them eating some. Dean was in the living room, watching the old television set with Bobby.

Though the volume was rather high, judging by approaching footsteps, Dean's Sammy-high-alert ears had heard his groan perfectly.

"I know you do, Sammy." said Dean as he tossed his beer bottle into the trashcan from across the room. "We'll go wherever you want once you're better."

Sam shared an ugly look with Dean. Dean was only frustrated because Sam hadn't touched his food yet. Sam was angry about hearing that repetitive answer whenever he complained about being stuck alone in the house majority of the time.

Sam grumbled, "When will _that_ be?"

Dean spun the seat on the opposite side of the table around and sat on it in the wrong direction. He squinted into Sam's eyes, sensing the bubbling attitude, "Oh, I don't know. When I don't have to worry about you puking your guts out if you walk for too long. When I have a chance to breathe knowing that you can take care of yourself."

"I _can_ ," growled Sam.

Dean raised his eyebrows, "Really? Who has to go to the grocery store _four_ times a week? We're hunters, man. The job doesn't exactly pay well."

Sam curled his lip and heaved himself to his feet, "I just remembered that I don't even _need_ your permission to get some air. It was just common courtesy."

Sam ripped his bandages off of his hands as he stomped towards the door. Freedom was screaming for him. He heard the legs of Dean's chair scrape against the floor as Dean leapt to his feet to stop him. Sam made it out to the porch when he felt Dean's strong grip entwine around Sam's bicep.

"Just where the hell do you think you're going?" said Dean, pulling Sam back towards the house.

Sam latched his other, albeit barely-healed, hand on the stair railing, "I need to go, Dean. If you want to keep your hand, you'll let go of me."

Dean frowned at the back of his brother's head, his grip not slackening, "What's gotten into you, Sammy? You _can't_ be on your own!"

Sam twisted around, glaring down at his brother, "Really? Because I was just fine during those two months without you."

"What are you talking about? I was right there!" Dean yelled as Bobby rolled around to the open doorway.

"Could have fooled me," said Sam quietly. "And that's the worst part of this whole thing." Dean scoffed and let go of Sam's arm, "So, you think you're 'fine', huh? I must have just _imagined_ the incredible-shrinking-Sammy -"

"Which you didn't notice till I died at that hospital! And don't call me 'Sammy' anymore. Sorry to break it to you, but, I'm not a kid anymore, Dean."

Dean shifted on his feet agitatedly, "You think you're some big, tough adult all of a sudden? Well, then GO!" Dean's sudden eruption surprised Sam out of his own anger; Dean shoved him when Sam remained frozen. "PROVE IT! Prove it that you don't need me anymore!"

"Dean, what the hell are you do-" began Bobby, but he was drowned-out by Dean's next roar.

"GO! I'm not gonna stop you!"

This was what Sam had wanted, right? Maybe he just wanted to be heard. Maybe he wanted Dean to taste at least the top layer of how messed-up Sam felt. Sam shook his head, fixed Dean with a dirty look which cleaned when his eyes drifted over Bobby, and disappeared into the shadows casted by the rising full moon.

Dean slammed the door closed with a _bang_ when he stomped back into the house, "He was screaming his lungs out for help and I just ignored him."

He nearly plowed right over Bobby. Dean had to awkwardly jump-stumble around his uncle. He already knew that Sam's betrayal had filled him with so much rage and uncertainty that he was blind and deaf to Sam slipping health. Hearing Sam say it out loud, telling him how betrayed _Sam_ felt, made the intensity of Dean's self-loathing increase ten-fold.

Bobby wheeled around to follow Dean into the kitchen, "What do you mean?"

"You heard him!" yelled Dean, gesturing at the front door with a wave of his hand. "And he's not wrong! I could have stopped all of this! But, I just couldn't swallow -"

All the breath evaporated from Dean's lungs as he passed the little table where Sam had abandoned his dinner. He gasped and bent over till his hands were holding him up by grabbing his knees. He felt like he had been punched in his diaphragm. Bobby wheeled closer to him. Dean walked around him over to the table and sat back down.

"I'm sorry, Bobby." said Dean as he hid his face behind his bandaged hand, trying to catch his breath.

Bobby wheeled himself up to the table and looked up at Dean, "It hurts, what he did. I felt it, I know it. You have every right to be angry with him."

Dean slid his hand down to his mouth then laid that arm out on the table, "Do I? What he did ... he didn't _mean_ to hurt me. But ..."

"What?"

" _I_ wanted him to hurt. I guess I got what I wanted, huh?"

* * *

Sam stuffed his scaring hands, aching with cold, deep down into his jean pockets. He wished he had thought to grab his hoodie or at least a jacket. The fight had erupted too fast for any common-sense. It was so chilly outside and his long-sleeved, baggy, dark green shirt wasn't making any difference. Of course, Sam wouldn't know seeing as he had been pretty much behind bars over the last week or so. He had forgotten what day of the week or month it was.

He had turned left after making his way through Bobby's junk and was coming up to the 'downtown' area of the county. Of all the times they had visited Bobby, Sam didn't remember much about the area. The only memory he had was sitting alone while Dean danced with a couple of girls at some nightclub. The sidewalks were crawling with insomniacs. Men and women his age or younger were laughing and screaming at each other.

Sam wondered what was the occasion as he paved a path through the thick crowd. He was used to the stares he got because of his height and he was certainly getting a lot tonight. A sign caught his eyes with its familiarity. It was the nightclub, _The Place_.

" _Creative_ ," Sam scoffed under his breath, though he couldn't be heard over the roar of the surrounding conversations anyway.

The sign was a bit brighter than he remembered. But, he had definitely been in there before. Between the choice of turning into an ice sculpture and getting warm in a dirty nightclub ... there was no choice. Sam ducked into the building and felt his ears go numb by the thumping of the stereo. The music was so loud his ears could hardly comprehend it. Sam made his way to the back of the club and sat down on a stool.

He rested his head against the wall and just watched the churning crowd. Sam thought of the things he had told Dean just a short while ago. He wondered if when he returned if Dean will have ditched him. Sam closed his eyes and felt his body slacken as though he were about to fall asleep. Then, he felt a tap on his knee. He frowned and straightened up, looking for the source of his disturbance.

It was a small woman. She would barely stand further than his shoulder and must be a little younger than he was. She was quite pretty with medium-length dark hair, dark eyes, and striking black eyebrows. She reminded him of Ruby. She was wearing a white tank top and a maroon skirt that ended near her knees. She didn't look as revealing as the rest of the girls Sam had seen there so far.

The girl leaned forward and Sam turned his face towards her to listen to her yell over the music, "You look bored!"

She pulled back and Sam shook his head, yelling back, "Dancing's not my thing!"

The girl smiled widely. She had beautiful white teeth, "Then why did you come in here!?"

Sam shrugged and gave her a small, innocent smile. He felt her tiny fingers entwine in his.

"Come with me!" said the girl, leaning back and pulling him to his feet. "Everyone's welcome here!"

Sam didn't know what he had gotten himself into. The girl wouldn't let go and she pulled him to the center of the crowd. Sam tried to keep her from getting elbowed and pushed by the swaying crowd. He thought how his older brother would cringe listening to this hip-hop music. The girl stopped and, without facing him, grabbed his other hand and placed them on her hips.

Sam's weak heart was racing with nervousness as he tried to follow her swaying hips. He brought her closer to make it easier. She laid her head against his chest and stroked his hands on her hips. Sam knew that when ... _if_... he told Dean about this, his brother would be astonished.

* * *

Sam followed the girl out of _The Place_. He couldn't remember the last time he had smiled this widely. That depressing thought wiped it from his face. Even if it hadn't saddened him, the hunger pang that erupted from his stomach would have wiped it away anyway. The girl had her hand wrapped around his wrist and was tugging him across the street to a hamburger joint.

"I'm hungry," she called over her shoulder up to him. "I bet you can use a hamburger," she redoubled her sweaty grip on his boney wrist and said under her breath, "... or a few."

Sam didn't object. He couldn't concentrate on anything else until his stomach was filled. He felt like he could eat out the whole fast food place. He didn't care right now how unhealthy it would be and mentally kicked himself for not eating the food Dean had forced on him. Sam quickened his step to beat the small girl to the door, her hand slipping off his wrist as he wrenched open the door for her.

He hoped she didn't notice his arm trembling with the weight of the metal door. Maybe dancing had been too much for his already-fast metabolism. He had burned up every calorie in his being. He dropped down onto a stool at the bar and watched as the girl had to pretty much climb onto hers.

"I didn't even ask for your name," said Sam apologetically.

The girl pulled her hair over one shoulder and smiled up at him, "Sorry, I should have said it anyway. I'm Lana."

Sam raised his eyebrows, "My name is Sam."

Her smiled widened, "That's my brother's name."

Sam laughed and extended his hand for her to shake, "Cool."

She shook it up and down and they laughed at the silliness of it. Lana ordered a hamburger with fries and Sam decided to get that with an extra plate of fries. When the food arrived, Sam found himself regretting doubling his order of fries. This restaurant clearly didn't mind fattening up their customers what with the over-sized portions they were served. Lana seemed to find it ridiculous, too.

"Whoa," she scoffed at his plate as he immediately took a bite of his large hamburger. "Somebody's hungry!"

Sam wiped his mouth on the back of his hand while the other reached for a napkin, "I've never eaten here before."

"Then, I probably should have warned you." Lana giggled, eating a French fry.

They fell silent as they made their way to finish their plates. Sam made note of how comfortable this girl was with eating a full meal that wasn't a salad with a guy she didn't know. She impressed him. Too bad this would be the last time he'd be able to hang with her. She seemed cool.

About a half an hour later of occasional routine questions and much scarping on Sam's part, he found his belly fit-to-burst again beneath his baggy green sweatshirt. Sam groaned in satisfaction and leaned his elbows on the counter, watching her push her almost-finished plate away.

She laughed when she saw that his two plates were empty, "I _cannot_ believe you ate _all_ that."

Sam felt his cheeks flush and he hid his embarrassment with a chuckle, "I probably wouldn't have been this hungry if you hadn't made me dance." When Lana looked like she was about to apologize, Sam continued, "Thank you. It was very kind of you."

Lana dabbed at her lips with her napkin, "You're very welcome, Sammy."

Sam's heart pinged at the nickname. He wondered how long he had been gone. _Would Dean really worry about him after their fight? Should Sam be worrying about Dean worrying about him?_ He glanced over Jessica's head at the clock on the wall. It was two in the morning. As though on queue, Lana yawned behind her hand.

"I'm tired," she explained unnecessarily.

Sam nodded, feeling his eyes burn with sleepiness, "Me, too."

They paid the waiter behind the counter and Sam held the door open for her again as they exited the hamburger joint. His arm wasn't shaking anymore now that he had eaten. Lana crossed her arms over her stomach and started shivering in the strong chill billowing around them.

"I'd give you my sweater but it's the only shirt I've got on," said Sam as he stuffed his hands into his jean pockets and hunched his shoulders up.

Lana's mouth gaped up at him, "You're kidding. How did you get here?"

Sam scrunched up his nose, "I walked. It wasn't too bad."

"No, offence. But, you're kind of a toothpick - a _tall_ toothpick," Lana giggled as Sam made a sheepish grin. "You'll freeze to death. Let me give you a ride home. It's not far, right?"

"Not by car," Sam hoped.

It took a couple of minutes for Lana's little Kia to warm-up since it was quite old. Sam was used to it, though. Being cold was something he has had to deal with constantly for almost three months. This night, however, he felt it weakening him. It was either that or his muscles were just aching to rest. Sam permitted himself to close his eyes for a moment, hoping it wouldn't be a mistake.

It was good that Lana was familiar with the location of Bobby's house. So, Sam didn't have to give her much directions before he rested his eyes. She glanced at him as they pulled up to the house and saw that he had fallen asleep. They rocked in the car as she shut off the engine.

She gave him a little shake but he didn't wake-up, "I hope you're not some druggie."

Lana got out and walked around her car to open Sam's door. Opening it made her car shake a little and Sam stirred.

"Wake-up, sleepyhead." she cooed, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Sam gave her a small smile and tried to straighten himself up after slumping in the passenger seat and felt a wave of nausea spread up to his throat. He swallowed painfully and tried to get up again but it was clear that he couldn't get out on his own and Lana was too petite to take his weight. Sam peaked his eyes open at her and saw how scared she looked.

"Are you okay?" Lana asked timidly.

"I'm sorry," Sam winced and squeezed his eyes shut, laying his hand on his stomach. "Can you knock on the door and get my brother for me? "

They heard the screen door on the porch _smack_ as it closed. Dean stomped down the steps, paused for a moment after spotting the girl, and broke into a run when he saw the worry in her eyes lit up by the lights from inside Bobby's house. Lana took a few steps back quickly to avoid being run-over by Dean.

"Sam!" exclaimed Dean.

He hadn't left Sam. Their eyes met once before Sam's eyes rolled upward and remained open as he fell unconscious.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

* * *

Dean was sitting on the couch in Bobby's living room. Bobby was poring over health books from the local library he frequented when Dean or Sam called him for information. Dean, however, just stewed his brooding thoughts, fuming where he was sitting. His arms were still in the same place they were an hour and a half ago, crossed over his stomach and his fists clenched. He might have not even blinked since carrying Sam to the upstairs guest room.

He had certainly not talked since, not even to complain about Bobby being incapable of taking some of Sam's weight off of Dean. It's not that he was angry with Bobby. He was worried that he'd scream if he'd open his mouth to speak at all. He didn't look away from the hole he might as well be burning into the floor when Bobby groaned as he switched from the desk chair back to his wheelchair.

"You want anythin' to eat?" Bobby asked as he wheeled past Dean.

The only indication that Bobby received that Dean had heard him was that Dean finally looked away from the spot on the wood floor.

Bobby wasn't going to take the self-pity any longer, "Well, when you dig your way out of your mood, you know where I'll be."

Dean rolled his eyes and leaned back, wincing at how stiff his bones had gotten from not moving a muscle. His eyes felt very dry. Maybe he had indeed not blinked for a long time.

* * *

Sam yawned when he woke up. He didn't wonder about how he got from Lana's Kia to the guest room in Bobby's house. He was just surprised that Dean had gone so far to make him comfortable rather than dumping his underweight-ass on the couch which was far closer to the front door. He had felt so free last night. He rubbed his forehead with one reddened hand felt something drip down his nose.

He raised his finger to his lips and saw blood on his fingertip when he raised it up to eyelevel. The blood was dripping down his middle finger. Sam was about to hang his head back to prevent blood from dripping onto his bed sheets when he noticed the blood stop before reaching his palm. He straightened up again and looked from the drop of blood to the tip of his finger. Suddenly, the blood drop started running again ... _up_ his finger.

Sam hadn't seen anything move when it shouldn't in around five years. Although, during the time he was thinking of he hadn't actually _seen_ it happen. He had assumed that it was Adam who pushed the dresser away from the utility closet so that he could stop that murderous telekinetic boy from shooting his brother in the head. Now, he wasn't so sure. He gasped quietly as the blood drop rose up off his finger and floated before his eyes.

"Sam?" Dean grumbled while rubbing his eyes as he stomped into Sam's room.

Sam turned to look at him and felt the blood drop make a tiny splash on his bed sheet over his thigh. Dean pulled his hand away from his eyes and blinked sleepily down at Sam. He sighed irritably when he saw the blood drying above Sam's upper lip.

"Oh, sheesh!" He growled, snatching up the almost empty tissue box from Sam's beside table and shoving it into Sam's trembling hand.

Sam turned his head away from the tissue box and stared at the little stain on his blanket. _Why was this happening to him again?_ He thought his telekinesis was long gone now that he was several months sober of the demon blood Ruby had been providing him.

"Wipe your nose, man." snapped Dean as he took a seat on the ground, burying his face in his hands and speaking to the ground. "I ain't gonna do _that_ for you. Gotta draw the line somewhere, right?"

Sam numbly pulled out a tissue and started cleaning his lips with it, his hazel eyes not leaving the blood drop over his thigh.

Dean lifted his head up and squinted at Sam, "What did you do, huh? Get drunk last night? Are you trying to give yourself _another_ heart attack? You might as well have given me one."

"Doesn't matter," said Sam quietly, still staring at the blood stain. "He'll bring me back anyway."

Dean ignored that, "Who was the hot chick driving you? Did she spike your drink or something?"

"Didn't drink," said Sam, just as distantly as before.

Dean scoffed, exasperated at how hard he was having to work to get an answer out of Sam, "Well, walk me through the night. 'Cause you were fine when you left, right? You said so yourself."

Sam finally looked away from the drop of blood and glared at Dean. He threw the blanket off of him and pulled his legs over the edge of the bed. Dean leaned back as though Sam was about to stand but Sam just rested his forehead on his hands.

"Her name was Lana," Sam told his jeans. "I met her at a club."

Dean cocked his eyebrows, "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"Ha-ha, very funny." Grumbled Sam, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "We danced, ate dinner, then she drove me here."

"Hey, spare the details." said Dean sarcastically.

Sam lifted his head to look at Dean, "I didn't sleep with her. Even if I did, I wouldn't 'detail' it to you."

" _That_ I'd have no problem with you keeping to yourself!" retorted Dean.

Sam heaved himself to his feet and waddled over to his duffle bag on the short dresser opposite the bed.

He pulled out his shampoo and conditioner, "I'm gonna take a shower. I don't need assistance."

Dean got to his feet to and followed Sam out of the door, glaring at his little brother's back, "Like I said, we've got to draw the line _somewhere_."

Sam rolled his eyes and watched Dean stomp down the stairs. He reached to turn the doorknob to the bathroom and felt chills run over his whole body when the door moved away from his fingertips with an ominous _creak_. Sam turned to look at the door and saw that no matter how many times he moved to touch the door knob, the door edged away from his fingertips as though they were like the opposite sides of magnets pressed together.

Sam swallowed deeply, "Not again."

* * *

" _You didn't need the feather to fly. You had it in you the whole time,_ " said Ruby's voice as though from down a deep, dark tunnel that Sam wished would caved-in. " _You had it in you the whole time_ ..."

Sam jerked awake as the Impala jostled over the rocky road. Ruby's beautiful face faded away from his mind's eye with each time he blinked. Dean was urging his old pride-and-joy up a mountainside.

"Come on, baby!" Dean coaxed the inanimate object behind gritted teeth, "Don't give up on me yet!"

Sam yawned widely, stretching his bunched-up lanky legs as much as the small space would allow and wincing when his head hit the low ceiling.

Dean turned at the little _bump_ from Sam's mini-collision and chuckled up at his little brother, "Well, good _afternoon_ , Big Guy."

Sam frowned down at him with tiredness as he sank back down in his side of the bench, "It hasn't been _that_ long -"

"Dude, you were out like a light bulb the second we got on that highway." Dean corrected him, leaning forward as they rounded another tight turn in the winding road up the mountain. "Still not feelin' too great, huh, Sammy?"

Dean was dragging Sam along on his first hunt since recovering at Bobby's house. Sam was now ten pounds heavier. But, he still hid his large and ever-boney frame underneath layers of hoodies and baggy jeans.

Sam cleared his groggy throat, deepened further with sleep, "Feeling awesome, actually."

Dean quickly gave the side of Sam's thin face a sad look, as though Sam's reply was not what he was hoping to hear, before focusing back on the hazardous road. Sam has been hiding his hands in his hoodie pouches and jean pockets ever since he watched a drop of his own blood rise up off his finger. He has been trying to engrave into his mind that he had been hallucinating since passing-out the night before while with Jessica. His 'powers' have been doormat ever since they shot the Yellow-Eyed Demon, long forgotten. Why would they return now?

"Where the hell are we even going?" asked Sam after the Impala nearly slid down the slick pebbles.

Dean glanced at him warily, "We're off to see the wizard."

"The _who_?" Sam scoffed.

"That chick that drove you back to Bobby's," Dean rolled his eyes. "I want to find out what her secret is."

Sam scoffed, "What do you think she is, a _witch_?"

"You've been getting better ever since," said Dean, his shoulders tensing. "I want to know what she did to make that happen."

Sam straightened up but stopped himself before he'd hit the ceiling again, "Dean, look. I was _sick_. I'm _recovering_. Lana has nothing to do with it. How do you even know where she lives?"

Dean fished out a crumbled note from his jacket pocket, "She scribbled down her number and I asked her for directions so that I could 'thank' her in person. She must have liked you a lot 'cause she was dumb enough to give them to me."

Sam glared down at Dean, "After Ruby, you're really going to suspect every girl whose kind to me to be some kind of a monster?"

Dean gave Sam another sad look, "Sorry, man. But, you're kind of a magnet for them. So, yes. I will."

"You're hopeless," Sam yawned, trying to hide his own concern.

 _What if Dean was right? What if Sam could never meet a normal girl?_ Sam watched the landscape bumping past his passenger window without really seeing any of it. He was so lost in worry that he yelped when Dean parked the Impala outside an apartment complex.

"Easy, tiger." Dean laughed at the fright that flickered across Sam's face. "We're here."

Sam irritably pushed the passenger door open and slammed it shut after he heaved himself out of it. He stuffed his hands quickly into his jean pockets. He was so scared that he'd make something levitate again. He knew how Dean would react. His older brother would jump to the conclusion that Sam was drinking demon blood again.

Maybe that's what Dean thinks is helping Sam recover. Sam thought back to the meal he had eaten with Lana. He would have recognized the metallic flavor of blood immediately. He felt a small weight lift off his shoulders. He had not tasted any blood that night. Dean was just being a paranoid, over-protective brother. This was nothing new. Lana was a perfectly normal girl. Sam followed Dean up two flights of stairs, remembering being carried down on a gurney with the medics a few weeks ago when his heart was failing. Sam and Dean took a harmonious deep breath before Dean knocked on room 204's door.

Sam whispered in Dean's ear, "This'll be a waste of time. You'll see."

Dean waved Sam away like he was swatting a fly off his ear as the door opened before them. There was no one on the other side of it. Dean cocked his eyebrows up at Sam and hovered his hand over the back of his jeans where he had his gun stored.

"Hello? Lana?" Dean called into the apparently empty apartment. "It's Dean from yesterday. Remember, we talked on the phone?"

Dean stepped hesitantly over the threshold and yelped when Lana came trotting down the hallway by her tiny kitchenette. Sam coughed to hide his chuckle at the sound that had escaped Dean's lips.

"Sorry, that thing always opens on its own." Lana giggled, beckoning them further inside. "How are you, Sam?"

She closed the door behind them after Sam said, "Great, actually, thanks. You should get that door fixed. I could try to do it for you. It's not safe."

Lana led them to the couch directly beside the door. It was quite a small apartment. Just big enough for one tenant.

"That's so nice of you. But, my brother's gonna fix it later today. You scared me that night," she said quietly while Dean circled around them to the kitchenette island. "What was that all about?"

"I was hoping you could tell us," said Dean as he leaned his lower back against the countertop; Sam glared over Lana's head at his brother's tone of voice.

Lana glanced over her shoulder at Dean and shrugged them, saying a little defensively, "How should _I_ know?"

Dean cocked his eyebrows up at Sam to convey ' _I expected her to say something like that_ ', "Sorry, I've got to use the bathroom."

"Third door down the hall on your left," Jessica pointed at the hallway from which she had appeared.

Sam knew Dean was using that excuse to leave and investigate Lana's home. Sam assumed Dean was expecting him to keep Lana occupied while he snooped around. Lana and Sam's eyes met and they both laughed nervously.

"Want to sit?" She asked after a few moments of awkward silence.

Sam smiled widely down at her, "Nah, I'm good. Sometimes it's too hard to get back up."

Lana pouted up at him sympathetically, "I'm sorry to hear that."

He added hurriedly, "It looks comfy, though!"

She smiled, "Want some water? I've got to do something other than just stare up at you."

Sam laughed, "Sure."

Lana turned away from him and raised her hand towards the glistening dishes drying by the side of her sink. Sam frowned as he watched a glass lift into the air and fill with sink water which had been turned on without anyone touching it. His wide mood ring eyes bounced from the glass floating towards him to Jessica's hand directing it.

Sam gaped his mouth and listened to his strangled voice breathe, " _Dean_!"

Lana pressed a finger to her lips as the cup redirected to her hand instead of Sam's, "I just felt like skipping the formalities."

Sam gulped, trying to clear his voice which he now realized she was controlling the volume of,"What are you?"

Lana took a sip of water,"I knew the second I saw you that you were one of Azazel's 'chosen ones'. When I pressed my body against you, I could feel your strengths writhing to be released. You're strong, Sam, one of the strongest I've ever come across. The rest are dead or dying. And you've been ignoring your powers for so long. I just thinned the angst burying it all."

"How?!" Sam choked, his voice hardly more than a whisper. "Give me back my voice!"

"It was a selfish thing of you to do, really. There's so much good you can do with them. Trust me, I did you a favor. They were about to mutiny your ass."

"How could you know all this?" Sam croaked, massaging his neck.

"Because I was in the same boat, Sam Winchester. You've been locking away your _gifts_ , too."

"Wait, how do you know my last name?"

"They don't _make_ you a monster, Sam. What you choose to do with them will decide that. You better start getting a leash on them, honey. Or soon those neat-o powers will be controlling you instead."

Sam shook his head and sank down onto her couch, burying his face in his large hands.

He flinched away without looking at her when Lana laid a hand on his shoulder, "You'll understand some day, Sam, you're just as much of a monster as we are. We didn't ask for any of this. All we can do is make the best of it."

Sam could hear Dean's heavy footsteps approaching them. He glared up at Lana, "Release me."

Lana tilted her head, her glossy raven hair snaking over to one shoulder, "You've got to do it, Sam. Stop Lucifer."

Sam shook his head fervently, "I swear I'll practice! _Please_!He'll kill you."

Sam felt the pressure around his vocal cords relinquish and he quickly composed his panicky expression, forcing himself to smile up at the pair. He wondered how on earth Dean couldn't hear Sam's heart pounding in his little brother's chest. This had been the exact opposite of a 'waste of time'.

* * *

Sam bolted to the stairs once Dean unlocked Bobby's front door. Bobby wheeled out from behind his desk and gazed up at Dean questioningly.

"What's gotten into him?" Bobby asked as they listened to Sam stomp up the stairs to the guest bedroom and slam the door behind him.

Dean forced a smirk, "That sounded a little dirty. But, I don't know. He's been p-m-s-ing ever since we left that chick's apartment." Dean followed Bobby into the kitchen and they rejoined at the table with beer bottles, "The engine was acting up; didn't stop freaking-out till Sammy fell asleep. It was like he was _making_ himself go to sleep. He was shaking and stuff. Real determined."

"Do you think his fever's comin' back for an encore?" Bobby asked, dread in the lines imbedded in his face.

Dean took a long swig, "He had better not get sick again or I'll kill him, I swear. I still don't like how I feel about that girl. But, her apartment was 'clean'. Maybe Sammy did make a human friend after all."

Bobby rested his elbows on the tabletop and gave Dean an imploring look, "Dean, I know that you're gonna say 'no' -"

"Then why ask?"

"- but, I think that you need a break, son." finished Bobby. "I think you've seen too much too often. It's not good that you're seeing monsters where they're ain't any - "

"You were right," grumbled Dean before taking another gulp of beer, "my answer is ' _hell_ no'."

"How _poetic_ of you," Bobby snapped back.

"Kiss my ass," Dean groaned. "You're short enough to now, anyway."

"That wasn't over-the-line at all," yawned Sam's baritone voice from behind them.

Dean and Bobby's heads harmoniously twisted around to look up at Sam. Sam had changed into drawstring pants and a oversized t-shirt. He had his plate-sized hands stuffed into his pant pockets and he was trying so hard to make them not notice that Dean's green eyes zeroed-in on them.

"Are you digging your way to China or somethin'?" Dean chuckled, gesturing to Sam's stuffed pockets. "What's wrong with your hands?"

Sam scoffed and hunched broad shoulders to hide his hands deeper in his pockets, "I'm just cold, asshole."

Sam's heavy feet hit the linoleum floor with a dull _thud_ each step he took towards the fridge. He was not as emaciated as he was a few weeks ago. But, he wasn't quite the grizzly bear of a younger brother Dean had grown used to.

"That 'time of the month' again for ya'? Huh, Sammy?" jeered Dean, whose sneer melted away with a single reproachful look from Bobby.

Sam was about to pull his hand out of his pocket to grab the handle of the fridge but froze just before his long fingers would be exposed. He was still very afraid to reach for something in front of Dean and Bobby. _What if the refrigerator opened on its own like the bathroom door had unlocked without him touching it?_ Sam spun around and leaned his back against the fridge. He avoided meeting Dean's gaze, his hazel eyes looking everywhere else but at his big brother.

Dean could sense that something was off. He was naive to even think that things were going to improve with Sam's health. It wasn't anything new for Sam to hide things from him.

"What, are your hands broken? Open it if you wanna eat," Dean scrapped his chair back against the floor and heaving himself to his feet. He analyzed Sam for a moment longer, then asked with a rather unnerving switch to a kind tone, "You hungry, Sammy?"

Sam still didn't meet his eyes, "I'm fine."

"You should eat somethin'," Dean insisted, walking over to Sam.

Sam felt his temperature rise sharply and he snapped his head up, "I said 'I'm _fine_ '!"

The light fixture above their heads shattered, sparks raining down on them. Sam and Dean both covered their heads protectively with their big hands while Bobby cursed over by the table. Dean crashed to the ground when he lost his balance and Bobby was rolling out of the line of the sparks fire. Sam then realized with a skip of his heartbeat that his hands were no longer in his pockets. His hazel eyes opened and he gasped at what he saw.

The kitchen was entirely dark but for the sparks from the busted light fixture ... that were no longer falling. They were suspended in the air around them. Dean had not lifted his head up yet. A few were hovering close to his shirt, burning him. Sam quickly shoved his hands down inside in his pockets and the sparks died away.

His eyes felt oddly cold in comparison with his boiling body, like ice cubes had replaced them. Dean pushed himself back up from the ground and watched Sam disappear around the back door, which must have already been open because Sam hadn't reached for it. Perhaps Bobby had been right. Maybe Dean did need a break, for he refused to believe that he had just now seen Sam's mood ring eyes entirely black.

* * *

Sam's toes dipped in the river, not caring how the icy water stabbed his skin like needles. He was sitting on the dock behind Bobby's house with his hands on his knees, one arm wrapped around a wooden post. His long brown hair curtained his face, his neck bent forward. Sam didn't know what to do if he had to explain what happened in the kitchen. He knew the words but they strangled his throat like the coiling muscles of a snake.

He was staring at his hands, these hellish hands gripping his knees. Sam was shivering to his bones in the fall South Dakota chill. He thought over what Lana had told him about his powers needing to be controlled rather than locked away. Maybe she was right. He didn't agree with her decision to loosen them up for him.

But, it could have happened anyway. _If she was evil, why did she bother to explain herself?_ Those who are high-and-mighty like that usually don't waste their time doing something that isn't in their favor. _If Sam was as strong as she had told him, why would she release such a threat to her life?_ Sam focused his attention on a jagged rock peaking above the surface of the rushing current as he pulled his legs back over the edge of the wooden planks and pushed himself to his bare feet.

He breathed slowly and deeply, closing his hazel eyes. Sam raised his left hand, palm facing the rock. He waited a few moments and peaked his eyes open. The rock had not moved.

He stared at his hand and shook it, "Is this all in my head?"

Sam curled his fingers almost to a fist and felt his entire arm stiffen involuntarily. He gasped at the pain and tried to pull his arm down to his side but it was like it had turned into a steal bar. Sam's eyes widened as all the veins in his arms moved above his muscles and wrapped around them like vines beneath his skin. It was an agonizing sensation, like a limb falling asleep from not being moved after a long time.

He felt his temperature rise sharply again and he began panting to keep up with his racing heart. He could see the blood pulsing in his veins so close to his skin. He whimpered as the veins rose higher and created long, skinny mounds beneath his skin. He was about to call for Dean but was interrupted by his shoulder thrusting forward. Sam clung to the railing of the bridge, his feet dangling over the rushing river.

The wooden railing strained against his grasp. Sam felt his eyes go cold again and saw the veins beneath his skin turn black, bleeding into the veins and tendons of his outstretched hand.

"Dean!" he whimpered with his lips trembling, a tear slipping down his hollow cheek.

His stiffened arm shook violently, banging his teeth together ... then it went still. Sam licked his dried lips, waiting for it to resume. After a few moments, Sam pressed his lips together and twisted his hand upward. He heard something slap in the water. He glanced down and saw that the enormous, jagged rock was rising skyward. Sam's mouth gaped and he shifted his arm to the right, pointing it at the opposite bank.

A rushing sound filled his ears, deafening him to all else. He saw the slimy algae growing beneath the rock rising steadily into the air. Sam forced his fingertips away from his sweating balm, the visible veins still black, when the rock was up the bank. It was slowly revolving in the air, cold water dripping to the dry dirt below.

Sam growled through clenched teeth, " _Let-go_!"

The rock only began trembling along with his vibrating arm.

He took a deep breath and glared at the blackened veins in his outstretched arm, "Listen ... to ... me! _NOW_!"

He and the rock both plummeted downward simultaneously. The boulder crashed into the ground with a dull _thud_ and Sam's legs fell beneath the water with a splash, his one hand still grasping the weak railing. The rushing sound in his ears evaporated and all the sounds of his surroundings filled his ears. He was panting harder than ever now with hints of whimpers. The water was so terribly cold, it knocked the breath right out of his lungs.

Sam gulped and after a few moments he screamed, "DEAN! HELP ME!"

He swung his other arm upward to join the other one gripping the straining railing. Sam tried to pull himself up which resulted in a pounding headache. He felt something cold drip down his left nostril and tastes something metallic in his mouth. He wretched and splattered the wood posts in front of him with blood. He hung his head forward, which was growing heavier with exhaustion with each passing second.

Sam could feel his grip slackening and didn't have the energy to redouble his hold. Either he was going to slip off from exhaustion or the railing was going to buckle under his weight. Sam knew that if he wasn't found soon, he would drown in this river. Though he knew that Lucifer would bring him back to life again, he didn't want to revisit the feeling of suffocation. Of all the times he died, that was the worst way to go.

Sam's mood ring eyes unfocused and his fingers loosed. He heard something pounding and shaking the dock. Just before his fingers would let go, a strong hand coiled around his wrist and gave a powerful yank upwards.

"SAMMY?" Sam heard Dean roar from far away. "What the hell did you do?"

Sam blinked up at Dean and cried out when the railing broke away. Dean firmly placed his boots on the slippery boards and walked backward, tugging Sam to safety. Sam reached a trembling hand up and gave a weak smile when he felt his brother entwine his strong fingers in his. Dean collapsed at Sam's side, cursing all the while.

Dean patted Sam's cheek, "Sam? Sammy! Talk to me! It's Dean! What the hell happened? Have you lost your freakin' mind?"

Sam blinked up at Dean and breathed, "Yeah ..."

His eyes rolled upward and remained open. But, he could not see anything.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

* * *

Dean watched Sam twitch restlessly in his sleep, his fists shaking where the laid on his belly. His big-little brother was laying on the moth-eaten couch in Bobby's living room. The old man was taking a breather up in his own bedroom which Dean hadn't been inside since he was a boy and didn't remember what it looked like. Sam grunted aloud and his lips trembled. His long legs shivered inside his drenched drawstring pants.

Dean bit his lip, not knowing what to do. He had covered Sam's legs with a comforter. But, it seemed to not be enough. Dean left the room and climbed up the stairs to get advice from Bobby, forcing himself to ignore another whimper Sam made in his sleep.

Sam could only hope he was dreaming again. This was not like any place he had ever seen on earth. He could only guess that he was in a cave. Everything around him was in impenetrable shadow but for the fifteen-foot diameter circle of ground he was kneeling on.

He could not see where the light illuminating the circle he was in the center of was coming from. It was as though this area of earth was lit from beneath. He was kneeling in what he could only compare to sand. But, he suspected that it was grounded-up skulls rather than miniscule bits of rock. Whatever it was, there was blood splattered all around him. Sam had padlocked chains around his wrists and ankles fastened into a large boulder behind him that must be over ten feet at its highest point.

There were two enormous fishing hooks pushed through the skin on his back. Blood was cascading down to his bare feet. He was still wearing what he remembered last: drawstring pants and a large t-shirt. His head was drooped downward, his brown hair swinging in front of his reddened hazel eyes.

 _"Help,"_ he gasped, his voice cracking from lack of use; he wondered if he was dead. _"No ... somebody help me!"_

He clenched his teeth as he felt something pull down the hooks in his back, like a foot was stepping on the chains connected to the hooks. The hooks tore another half an inch down his back. Sam wrinkled his nose up as he snarled at the pain.

 _"What's wrong? I thought you were a masochist."_ hissed Lucifer from behind Sam. _"How did it feel, lifting something ten times your weight? Those 'muscles' haven't been exercised in years. I bet it was excruciating. "_

Sam gasped at the pain as the hooks were yanked out from his skin. His eyes welled with tears but he bit his trembling lips together, fighting the urge to scream. He didn't want to give the devil the pleasure of watching him suffer.

Sam gazed up into the vast darkness, _"God, why won't you help me?"_

He felt a breeze circle around him, raising goose bumps along his pale skin. Sam held his breath when air was blown in his face. He could not see Lucifer. Of course he couldn't. Lucifer was not in his vessel yet ...

 _"Sam Winchester,"_ Sam heard the baritone voice grumble from somewhere in front of him, _"I implore you to see reason. This is where you will end up if your beloved big brother finds out what you were doing on that dock. You don't want that to happen, do you?"_

Sam furrowed his brows, _"Yeah, maybe. But, it'll be worth it. You're only telling me this because you're suddenly afraid of me. Why? Show your face, you coward!"_

Another rush of air, this time fire-hot, blew into Sam's face. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath.

* * *

Sam sat bolt upright, blinking his watering eyes. He squinted around and saw that he was lying on the couch in Bobby's living room. Dean must have carried him there from the dock. Sam quickly examined his left arm. He could not see any black veins, or much of any veins at all. He sighed with relief and rested his throbbing forehead on the heel of his hand as Dean rounded the corner and stepped into the living room. Sam furrowed his soft brows at what was in Dean's hand ... a hairdryer.

"He lives!" Dean joked, unwrapping the extension cord from around the hairdryer. "How you feelin'?"

Sam could see dark circles under Dean's eyes, "How long was I out?"

"Only like a half an hour," said Dean, grunting as he sank down to plug in the hairdryer in the outlet closest to the couch. "Lift the blankets, come on."

Sam did as he was told and raised his eyebrows when Dean pointed the hairdryer at Sam's damp pants and turned the machine on full-blast.

Dean caught Sam's confused look in the corner of his green eyes, "What did you expect me to do? Change your pants for you? We're not _that_ close, man." After a moment, Dean frowned and shoved the hairdryer in Sam's face, "I'm not your slave."

Sam laughed for the first time in too long as he took the hairdryer in his hand. He bent forward to aim closer to the ice-cold fabric of his pants. Dean left to drag a chair from the kitchen to sit by Sam.

"I tried to carry you upstairs again but I prefer my arms attached to my shoulders." Dean chuckled, but there was no twinkle in his green eyes. "You're too heavy now, man. Not sayin' it was much easier before."

Dean clapped Sam's shoulder blade and Sam swayed forward and back under the force of it.

Sam smiled over his shoulder at his big brother while he turned off the hairdryer, "Aren't you going to ask what happened out there?"

Dean's face fell, "Nope."

Sam raised his eyebrows, "Seriously?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in his chair, "Dude, you create your own freakin' problems. I can't wait on tender hooks," he didn't notice Sam flinch involuntarily at that word, "for you to trust me anymore, man. It hurts too much."

Sam swung his long legs over the edge of the couch and planted his feet on the rug, "You never told me that."

Dean raised his eyebrows briefly then nodded sadly, "I didn't think I'd have to."

Sam watched Dean's downcast eyes till Dean heaved himself to his feet and left Sam with just the hairdryer for company.

* * *

Night had fallen, its endless dark sky freckled with glinting stars. Sam had one hand gripped on the edge of the couch and the other at the top, those knuckles reddened from hitting the jagged windowsill. His eyes were watering with the effort to keep his mouth shut. Sometimes, he'd forget that he was holding his breath and would gasp for air.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, taking deep slow breaths as his body began to tremble from head to toe. The dulled legs of the couched drummed against the wood floor beneath him but Sam couldn't hear it when he was like this. The rushing sound, which he had identified as his own rushing blood, was filling his ears for the ninth time tonight. His body temperature was skyrocketing again, his shirt and drawstring pants sticking to him with salty sweat. Sam knew he had done it right when he felt his eyes turn ice-cold in their sockets.

Getting to this point in his transformation was easier than the next. But, no less excruciatingly painful. Now, he needed to rein in all his strength to reclaim control of his vibrating limps. He could feel his fingers ripping the fabric of the couch and the soft feathers tickling his skin. But, he could not hear the tearing yet. Sam refused to allow himself to pant.

This way made it quicker to slow down his heart out of exhaustion. It wasn't complete control. But, it was better than what had occurred on the dock. His lungs refused to comply with his pounding heart and soon he felt nauseous. Sam could not see it, but, his entire body was pulsating with visible black veins rather than solely on his left arm like before.

His blackened eyes greyed the thin skin of his eyelids. A moment later, they began to disperse back to their hazel color as Sam felt them warm up again. This was the first stage of returning back to 'normal'. A little while later, Sam could feel his cold sweat desperately trying to cool his body. Now, the only thing that was shaking the couch was his shivering.

Sam opened his eyes and relinquished his grip on the couch as he gasped for air. He had forgotten to breathe for too long again. But, at least not as long as before. He felt famished, like he hadn't eaten in days.

"Okay, that's enough 'practice'." Sam whispered to himself in a rush, now allowing himself to pant in time with his aching muscles.

Sam felt so incredibly sore. Night was the best time of day to practice. He had successfully gone into his power-state six times and was able to return to his human-state. Sam rolled his eyes up at the ceiling and sighed. He sat bolt upright when he heard Dean stomping down the stairs and flip on the living room light.

"What's all that racket? Are you _tap dancing_ in here or something?" Dean demanded with groggy irritation.

Sam realized he was clutching his blankets to his collar bone like a girl who had gotten walked-in on in while getting dressed and let it go. He was glad that his black veins were fading. Dean was squinting at him through the glaring light so hopefully he wouldn't notice anything out of the ordinary.

"I wasn't doing anything!" said Sam too quickly and far too innocently.

Dean turned away from him with a wave of defeat, "Well, whatever it is, cut it the hell out!"

His big brother slammed the light switch back down and shadows drowned the room in darkness again. Sam waited till he heard Dean slam the guest bedroom door shut, the room that he had given to Dean out of guilt, before sinking back down into the couch.

"I wish I could," Sam said sadly, closing his eyes and hoping he would get some rest tonight.

* * *

"Come on, man. We've overstayed our welcome. Time to hit the road," Sam heard Dean say as he passed him, patting Sam hard on his back.

Sam lurched at the blow and Dean turned just in time to watch Sam puke on the pillow he had been resting his head on a moment ago. Sam brought his fingers numbly to his lips, feeling the chucky texture and tasting the metallic flavor of blood and stomach acid in his mouth. He groaned as the roof of his mouth throbbed at the damage his regurgitated stomach contents caused. Sam had been feeling sick after his last attempt to control his monstrous powers. He regretted not going to the sink when his stomach first began churning rather than passing-out on the couch.

" _Ugh_!" wretched Dean, covering his mouth and noise against the odor of Sam's vomit. He said into his hand, "It smells like _sulfur_!"

Sam felt the color drain from his face at Dean's words. He pushed himself upright and wiped his mouth on the part of the pillow that his vomit had not spread to yet. Dean brought a roll of paper towels to Sam while keeping his distance as well as his hand over his mouth and nostrils.

Dean hovered at a safe distance from the smell, "If you puke in my car, I swear I'll strap you to the roof with bungee cords! God, you're helpless nowadays."

Sam decided not to retort at Dean's insensitive words, trying to mop up as much of the vomit out of the dark decorative pillow. He worried how Bobby would react to this. Sam hoped this pillow wasn't special to his uncle.

He heaved himself to his feet, his long skinny legs trembling with the effort, with the pillow in one hand and rasped as he staggered past Dean, "I'll put this in the washing machine before we go."

Dean winced at the crackling sound of Sam's deep voice. He was beginning to doubt his brother would ever be completely healthy again. Dean decided to hide his concern with his stoicism, waiting for Sam to open up to him. But, he refused to ignore the warning signs like he had all those weeks ago when he had to dial 9-1-1 for Sam.

"Get a move on!" Dean forced himself to call indifferently, "Cas has a plan to stop Lucifer and Michael's battle!"

* * *

"Well, you're on your way back to looking like my hired-muscle." Dean teased while Sam stuffed his empty microwavable dinner into a plastic bag.

Sam smirked, "Shut-up. Where are we going anyway?"

"He's about an hour away from here."

Sam furrowed his brows down at the side of Dean's face, "Why the hell can't he meet _us_ somewhere?"

Dean rolled his green eyes, "He's even more paranoid. He doesn't even _want_ to know where we are. He'd only tell me the coordinates of where _he_ is. He's afraid that we're being watched by Michael himself."

Sam went to zip his jacket up to his neck and realized that he could have his hands exposed without the threat of moving anything that shouldn't. He examined his hands, unaware that Dean was watching him intently in his peripheral vision. _What was his little brother so fascinated by?_ Dean could not shake the all-too familiar feeling that Sam was keeping something from him yet again.

Suddenly, the Impala rocked from side to side as something large landed on the roof.

"WHAT THE HELL?" yelled Dean, trying to realign the Impala into the correct lane before they would hydroplane.

Sam gripped his seat and felt his temperature rising again, "No, please! God, no!"

"Hang on, Sammy!" Dean growled through clenched teeth, now placing his full attention on the road.

Sam's lips trembled as he felt his veins rising painfully to the highest point beneath his skin and darken. He tried to hide his hands but they would not move from where they were clenching the bench. Hopefully the way they were angled would make it too difficult for Dean to see them. Sam's eyes rolled up in his head as they turned black and the Impala straightened out in the proper lane.

" _Phew_ , what the hell was that?" Dean glanced over at Sam, who was trembling in pain. "Sam?"

Before he could touch Sam, they vanished from the highway and hit the tile floors of an abandoned house. Sam opened his eyes as he felt his body going cold again. _Had his powers just tried to save his brother and him?_

"Get out," said the baritone voice of Castiel.

Sam finally looked into Dean's eyes as he sank down in his seat, panting frantically.

"What happened, Sammy?" Dean breathed, "You looked like you were having a _seizure_."

Sam chuckled in grateful hysteria, "I was just scared. Shut-up, don't look at me like that."

Dean was smirking at Sam when Castiel yanked open the driver's door, "Get out, Dean. We need to talk."

Dean glared at the angel when Castiel bent down to see the brothers, "If you wrecked my car, I will kill you. So help me God, I will."

"We have more important things to worry about than the condition of your vehicle," said Castiel in quick and monotone succession. "The damage occurred when something tried to overpower me. I suspect it was Michael. It felt too powerful to be a demon or any angel of my ranking."

Sam glanced away from Castiel at the angel's theory. He was glad that Castiel hadn't detected that it was he who had tried to keep the Impala on the highway. But, Sam hadn't initiated the act which frightened him. He would need to practice far more than he had planned. Sam could not risk Dean being oblivious to another 'surprise'.

Sam pushed his passenger door open and staggered to his feet. He felt famished as though he had not just eaten a meal. Sam suspected that was the result of his body temperature rising whenever he went into his 'power-state'. He would need to eat a lot before practicing later to prevent this ache in his stomach and head. Dean heaved himself out of the car and glared at the shoe-shaped dents in the roof of the Impala. He was about to round on Castiel to throw a fit when he noticed Sam swaying slightly where he stood.

"Sam, you okay?" he called out to his brother.

Sam could hear Dean's voice but he didn't understand what his older brother had asked. He could hear his blood pumping in his ears, almost deafening him to all else. He tasted something metallic and raised his fingers to his lips. He was having another nose bleed.

Dean shook his head, "Sam, sit down. Hang-on, let me help. You'll fall on your ass without me."

After giving Castiel a irksome glance, Dean circled around the car and helped Sam sink down to the concrete floor. He noticed while doing so that one of the tires was slashed. He growled through his clenched teeth to vent a little of his anger before returning his attention to his little brother. Sam was blinking deliriously, examining his hands again.

"Sam, when are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Dean asked, furrowing his brows.

Sam's head hung back like he was about to faint but Dean caught him. Dean read Sam's lips mouth, " _Nothing wrong_."

Castiel squinted down at Sam, "I suppose I should have been gentler when transporting you two."

Dean scowled up at the angel, "I was just thinking the same thing!" He cupped Sam's face between his sweaty palms, "Sammy? If your lights go out again, you could really die! Come on, dude, let's get you on that nice leather sofa over there." Sam's eyelids drooped and Dean patted Sam's cheek, "No! No nap-time for you, man. Get up. Now, Sam! Now!"

Sam gripped the front of Dean's leather coat as his older brother struggled to pull Sam up to his booted feet. Castiel seemed to be growing increasingly frustrated and impatient by being ignored by the brothers so he raised one hand in Sam's direction and the other at the shiny leather couch. Sam was yanked out of Dean's grip and the couch came growling across the old wood floor. Castiel lowered Sam onto the couch and set the couch back where it had been set originally without touching either.

Dean rounded on the angel, "Cas, I almost forgot you were _fuming_ over there. I thought the heat was just coming from _me_."

He smirked over at Sam who grinned sadly up at his brother, showing that he had understood the joke.

Castiel walked between Dean and Sam, "Do I have your undivided attention now, Dean?"

"As soon as you un-divide your angelic ass between me and my brother. He needs me now more than you do," Dean growled.

Castiel stepped aside to avoid raising tempers so early in their meeting, "The world needs you more. Both of you."

"Put the world on hold, would ya?" Dean scoffed as he knelt at Sam's side. "You gotta start telling me when you're too sick to travel, Sammy. That's kind of a big deal since we do nothing _but_ travel."

Sam shook his aching head, "I've been sick since I was a baby, Dean."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean asked, frowning down at Sam's reddened hazel eyes.

"Remember? I used to see people die in my sleep? Remember how Yellow-Eyes 'recruited' me and other 'children' like me?" Sam asked his brother with a tired voice, "See? I've been ill for a long, long ... _long_ time."

Dean glanced over his shoulder up at Castiel then looked at Sam sternly, "Talk about a walk down memory lane. Sammy, that crap ended like ... over three years ago. You're better now. You're _normal_. Aren't you? Sam?"

Sam hated the dread surfacing in Dean's emerald eyes and focused on the floor to avoid them, furrowing his brows in deliberation. If there was a moment to tell Dean what he was going through, what Lana had done to him, this was it. If only Castiel weren't here. If only Dean would understand that Sam never asked for any of it. If only he could show Dean how much pain Sam has gone through thus far to gain control of his unleashed 'powers'.

"As normal as I'll ever be," Sam chose to say, knowing it was not a lie but couldn't ignore how cryptic it sounded.

Castiel stomped over to them, "Has it escaped both of your minds that I have a plan to stop the Apocalypse?"

Dean heaved himself back to his feet and turned his broad back on Sam. Sam peaked around Dean's leg and looked up into Castiel's crystal blue eyes. His eyes went cold for a few seconds and he closed his eyes. In his mind, he found himself standing in Bobby's basement months ago. He saw Castiel unlocking the Panic Room... just days before Sam busted open Lucifer's cell. Sam's eyes warmed again and with shock he opened them again.

Sam sat up alarmingly quickly, "He did it, Dean!"

Dean twisted around, "Did what?"

"He's the one who broke me out of the Panic Room!" Sam growled, getting to his feet with surprising strength. "We wouldn't be in this mess if he wasn't such a daddy's boy for a father he has never even seen!"

He could feel his heart pounding but somehow he knew it would not get out of hand. Perhaps, with each grain of truth, he'll have complete control over them. Sam felt vindicated towering over the angel. Dean gaped at Castiel.

Castiel looked sternly into Dean's livid eyes, "May I remind you that you broke the _first_ seal, Dean Winchester."

Dean shook his head, "You've got a lot of balls stooping _that_ low to turn my back on my brother. Seems to me like you're the only one out of the three of us who started this whole mess _knowledgably_ and _willingly_! What the hell is wrong with you, Cas? How could you not say _anything_? How could you keep this, of all things, from _me_?"

Sam glared down at Castiel, "What did I ever do to you? Huh? I've been torturing myself with guilt for months, _months_! I almost _died_ of it! Sure, yes, I am still to blame. But, I didn't have to take all the credit."

Sam and Dean circled around the angel to return to the Impala.

Castiel turned called after them, "Lucifer is planning to devastate your birthplace!"

The brothers glanced from each other to over their shoulders harmoniously at the traitorous angel.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

* * *

"What does old Luci have against Lawrence, Kansas?" Dean scoffed, turning to face Castiel.

Castiel furrowed his brows then shook his head, " _No_ , the birthplace of your _bloodline_. We must stop him. If he succeeds, he will become unstoppable. He won't require a vessel to kill Michael."

Sam and Dean shared a look of worry before Dean chuckled dryly, "Well, I hate to say that you'll be going solo to prom, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes then asked the angel, "Where exactly is this birthplace?"

"After the great flood that once cleansed the world of sinners, your ancestors settled at the base of what is now known as Mount Ararat." Explained Castiel as he walked closer to the brothers. "The ship that had saved them was constructed with the wood from a special tree that is now extinct."

"What's so special about a stupid stick?" Dean asked, rolling his eyes.

Castiel glared at him, "The 'stupid stick', referred to as 'gopher wood' in the Bible, was chosen by my father to protect these chosen humans from drowning. The chosen leader constructed a massive ship with the wood from these trees and only those within the ark survived -"

"Wait, ' _ark_ '?" Sam repeated, "You're not talking about _Noah's_ Ark, are you?"

"I thought that was a _bedtime_ story," Dean chuckled, grinning up at Sam.

"I am, Sam." Castiel nodded. "We must leave immediately -"

Dean held up his hands before the tips of Castiel's pointer fingers could touch his and Sam's foreheads, "Whoa-whoa-whoa, hold your horses. Where the hell is this _Mount Ararat_?"

"It's on the border of Iran, Armenia, and Nakchivan." Sam answered before Castiel could open his mouth.

Dean frowned up at Sam then looked at Castiel, "I didn't pass Geography like this one did," he indicated Sam with his thumb. "But, even _I_ know that's on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. Are you _serious_ , Cas?"

"Do we have to do something with the _gopher wood_ , assuming we find it since you said it's _extinct_?" Sam asked Castiel immediately after Dean was done talking.

Castiel met Sam's hazel eyes, "We will construct a sword from the ark itself and we will drive it through the devil's heart."

* * *

The sun was rising over Mount Ararat. Two middle-aged, billionaire hikers were the only _apparent_ guests at the snow-capped campsite not too far from where the almighty ship was said to have been buried over the centuries of changing landscapes. Once the couple rounded a corner and vanished, Castiel contracted his wings and revealed both himself, Dean, and Sam - appearing out of thin air. Dean was sleeping beside his brother. Castiel paced in a circle around the unconscious brothers, whispering an ancient chant underneath his breath.

The angel saw that Dean's eyes were moving rapidly beneath his eyelids and decided to kneel beside the man, trying to make sense of the phenomenon. Little did Castiel know, Dean was having a hell of a nightmare. In his dream, Dean was diving into the deepest depths of the ocean. His lungs were close to bursting from lack of oxygen. But, Dean kept plugging his hands downward towards a dark shape sinking fast below him.

The sunlight broke through the surface of the water and illuminated who Dean was risking drowning to save ... it was Sam. With a touch of Castiel's fingertips, the brothers awoke simultaneously. Sam remained on the ground while Dean sat bolt upright, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand.

"Didn't think to bring a tent?" Sam grunted up at Castiel as he heaved himself up to his booted feet.

Sam extended a hand down for Dean to take. Dean blinked up at his brother and Sam could see that Dean's green eyes were reddened.

"What's going on with you?" Sam asked, furrowing his soft brows with concern.

Dean shook his head and got himself to his feet without Sam's help, "So, this is the place? Old Noah picked a great parking spot. Tell him 'thanks' from both of us, Cas."

Sam watched Dean apprehensively. He knew that Dean hated traveling via angel-teleportation. But, something in his older brother's eyes told Sam that something was off. Dean was avoiding looking directly into Sam's eyes and Sam could see sadness etched in the age lines of his brother's face.

"We must walk from here," Castiel ignored Dean's rudeness. "Remove your shoes."

Sam and Dean glanced from their hiking boots to each other to Cas, saying harmoniously, "Hell no!"

Castiel looked at them sternly, "From here on out we are on holy ground. We must show respect -"  
"I'd rather keep my feet, thanks." snapped Dean, circling around Castiel but not before bumping his shoulder against the angel's. He grumbled under his breath, "Crazy, stupid son-of-a-bitch."

Sam hung behind and sighed down at the glare Castiel was giving him, "We both have things to apologize to each other for."

"I don't apologize to demons," Castiel growled.

Sam gulped, wondering if Castiel could sense his growing powers, "I am not what you think I am. Castiel, you know better than I do that I did not invite Azazel to bleed into my mouth. How can you blame me for that?"

Castiel took a step forward while Dean looked on from a few ten feet beyond them, "If you had a soul, you'd have assassinated yourself the first chance you were given. You are an abomination of nature, Sam Winchester."

Sam's hazel eyes seemed to grow wider, pleading for the angel to understand. "If this is how you feel, why don't you _smite_ me right now? That'll solve everything."

"Because you are the one to stop Satan," Castiel said quickly. "It must be done by his vessel alone."

"You don't need to tell me twice," Sam said eagerly. "Maybe, I'll earn your trust back after -"

Castiel's eyes actually seemed to show some empathy, "There won't be an 'after', Sam. Your ... 'powers' won't save you this time."

Sam tilted his head, aware of Dean returning to them in his peripheral vision.

He nodded, "I understand. Can I make a dying wish?" Castiel remained silent so Sam plunged on before Dean would be within earshot, "Please, don't tell him. Don't tell Dean."

* * *

Sam followed behind Dean and Castiel. He kept glancing from his shoes to Dean's back. A few times, Dean caught Sam's glance and Sam would quickly look away. Sam once tried to smile at Dean but his facial muscles failed to act fast enough. He pulled his sleeve back and decided to practice while walking behind them. Sam wished he had more time to master control over his abilities. But, it was now or never and Dean, not to mention the world, depended on them.

"Please, Dean ... don't hate me." Sam whimpered under his breath as his arm ached because of the black veins moving over his muscles.

Sam aimed his hand at a smooth pebble, finding solace that at least it didn't hurt so bad to position his trembling arm and that he could focus his curse into one part of his body rather than being too weak to stop it from flooding his entire body. The pebble immediately rose into the air and zoomed into his hand. Sam closed his eyes and breathed deeply once. He peaked one eye open when his arm miraculously stopped aching and gasped with a smile that his hand had returned to normal so quickly. Perhaps, if Sam could continue to progress and grow stronger, he won't have to die killing Lucifer.

"What're you smilin' about?" asked Dean, frowning over his shoulder at Sam.

Sam closed his fist over the pebble and stuffed it in his coat pocket, "Nothing. You know, I'm just kind of ... excited to see the Ark?"

Dean looked at Sam a little too long, telling Sam that he had completely failed in tricking Dean, "Sure, Sammy. Sure."

Sam felt ashamed for needing to lie to Dean even though he believed it was necessary if he wanted Dean to still love his little brother. Dean had locked Sam in the Panic Room out of love, sure. But, what would his brother say if he found out that Sam was continuing his powers even without drinking a demon's blood. Sam was too afraid to find out after getting a taste of Dean's fury and despair. Sam then realized that all he wanted before he would die was for Dean to have faith in him even for just a little while.

Sam grinned when he overheard Dean say to Cas, "Shut-up, traitor."

Dean stopped in his tracks to let Sam catch up to him. When Cas turned to see why Dean wasn't by his side, Dean shooed him on with a wave of a hand. Sam felt a little bit of solace in this gesture that Dean was more loyal to his brother, whom had betrayed him too many times, than the two-faced angel.

Dean looked up at Sam, "Damn it, stop being taller than me, sasquatch."

Sam laughed, furrowing his brows at the strangeness of the feeling. The corners of Dean's lips twitch like he was going to pull them into a smile and it saddened Sam that it seemed like his older brother had long forgotten how to grin.

Dean noticed Sam watching Cas leading them through the snow, "Listen, Sammy. When this is all over, no more Cas. Ya' hear? I mean it. No more angel business. It'll be you and me against the world again."

Sam fought against the urge to tell Dean that there was no future for his little brother anymore.

* * *

Sam may be on his way back to the 'sasquatch' that Dean had 'lovingly' called him. But, he felt extremely out of shape and was lagging.

Dean noticed this and called up to Cas, "Why didn't you just God-beam us right up to the stupid boat?"

Sam wondered if Cas could see through this impenetrable fog. His head felt a little light and he felt nauseous. Dean coughed every now and then. Both brothers had their arms wrapped around their chests to keep warm. This made their gate very wobbly. Sam's curtains of brown hair slapped his face and whipped his ears with water frozen to the tips.

"It can only be accessed on foot!" Cas called over his shoulder. "It does not matter because we're here!"

Cas stopped and Sam fell to his trembling knees, bringing Dean down with him. While Sam panted where he knelt, Dean patted him roughly on his broad shoulders. The low-hanging clouds cleared and they all stared up at the mass of earth and wood protruding out of the pearly white snow. Sam guessed that more than half of the boat must be buried in the mountain rock for it was only a little over twenty feet high. But, the length must have been over four- _hundred_ feet long.

Dean joked in Sam's ear, "Still don't make a believer out of me." Sam chuckled which triggered an exhaustion-coughing-fit. Dean clapped Sam's back harder but didn't seem too concerned about Sam's wretches, "Another thing we'll do after all this is hit the gym, little brother. Remember you used to brag that you could bench me?"

Sam smiled at Dean while his eyes watered at the pain of his scratchy throat. They watched Cas fly up to the top of the fossilized wood and kneel down to touch the ancient ship. Sam heaved himself to his feet with Dean's hands lifting one of Sam's arms. The brothers watched the angel close his blue eyes and flatten both of his hands on the wood. They waited a few minutes for Cas to explain what he was doing but, unfortunately, Dean's patience was not quite as long as his brother's.

"If you wanna be alone with this thing," Dean called up to Cas, "Just let us know before you start kissing it!"

Cas didn't react in the way Sam had predicted, "It must not be dismantled by a soldier of God."

"You got that from feeling it up?" Dean asked sarcastically.

Cas looked down at Dean while straightening up, "It must be done by the vessel of an archangel."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Isn't there a loop hole? How the hell am I supposed to rip out a chunk of _that_? It's hard as rock!"

Cas disappeared and reappeared directly in front of Sam, "You won't, Dean."

Dean glanced between the angel and his brother and shook his head fervently, "You're kidding me, right? The kid can barely stand steady!"

"I'm fine, Dean." Sam lied in a whisper, not breaking eye contact with Cas.

Dean staggered over to them in the deep snow, "Sam, listen to me. You're not strong enough. Cas'll do it!"

"It won't work if I do it," said Cas through gritted teeth, glaring up at Sam. "It must be done by the unwilling vessel."

Sam turned to Dean, "Let's just get this over with. I'm freezing my ass off up here."

Dean raised his hands up, palms forward, "Fine. Try. Cas, you'll see it's impossible. Not to be a downer, but, I'll just stand over here and think of more practical ways to smear the devil."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest but the look he was giving Sam wasn't angry. He was concerned about Sam overexerting himself again.

Sam gave him a small smile, "I'll be back in a sec'."

Dean watched Sam and Cas trudge up the steep hill of rock and snow up to the hardened wood, hoping that Cas could zap them to a hospital should Sam pass-out again. Sam felt the wood. It was so smooth, such a contrast to its rugged appearance, like sea glass. He pressed his fingers against it to test how thick it was.

"It has been hardened over the centuries," Cas told Sam. "This is where your curse can come in handy."

"How?" Sam scoffed, "I can only lift stuff."

Cas glanced over his shoulder down at Dean before watching Sam examine the Ark, "Only that?"

"Yeah, it's not like I now spend my free time getting drinks with demons and monsters, Cas. Well, at least not _knowingly_." Sam retorted, giving a plank of wood an experimental tug.

Dean high-stepped closer to them, watching Sam like a hawk.

Sam tugged again on the plank and groaned in frustration, "I can't do it with Dean watching."

"You're going to have to sever your ties to your brother to save this world," said Cas sternly. "There is no other way. You need to stop feeling."

Sam glared at Cas, "Now you've asked too much. I'll find a way without them."

Sam yanked and jerked on the wood, cutting up his hands in the process. After a few minutes of fruitless pulling, he dropped to his knees, "Cas, please, help me. I can't do it."

Cas knelt down beside Sam and, after glancing at Dean, placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, "An ordinary man cannot, Sam Winchester. Embrace what you really are."

Sam squinted down at Cas as he heaved himself back to his feet, "I'm not a 'what', Cas. I'm human. Don't forget that."

After Sam looked at Dean one more time, his eyes went black as he turned his back on his older brother. With vibrating hands, Sam hid his fingers beneath them so that Dean would not be able to see the black veins. He whimpered as the agonizing ache filled his entire body. Sam gripped the plank of wood and could feel his arm muscles expanding painfully. This long legs punched his boots into the stony ground and Sam fought against the temptation to cry out. Sam hoped he did not break a toe.

His muscles were betraying him, expanding and constricting his bones. Cast took a step forward to hide Sam as much as he could from Dean. Perhaps he was realizing how Sam truly felt about his curse. Sam glared his black eyes at the stubborn plank, grinding his teeth together as he leaned backwards. Dean rushed forward when he heard a loud _crack_ coming from Sam's chest who could not help but yell at the pain. One of Sam's ribs had been squeezed so tightly by his demonized muscles that it broke.

Cas held up a hand to stop Dean, "Stand back, Dean."

"What was that noise?" Dean demanded, assuming Sam was trembling violently because of the cold.

He could not see Sam's black eyes or protruding veins.

Cas lied, "Your brother will be fine. Stay back."

Sam could barely hear Dean arguing with the angel over the sound of the blackened blood pumping through his body. It was amplified in his ears, deafening him to almost everything else once again. After he leaned back one more time, the plank finally broke free and Sam felt an excruciating pain in his lower back. The plank of wood, about five feet long and six inches thick, slid down the snowy bank while Sam's legs buckled underneath him.

"SAM!" Dean roared, scrambling up the bank to where Sam was hunched over on the ground.

Sam's eyes were warm again and he watched the last shadow of his blackened veins fade away. Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, "You okay, man?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded while panting. "I think I threw my back out or something."

Dean laughed humorlessly, "Well, we're gettin' old. Aren't we?"

Sam's throat was too dry to let him laugh so he just smiled up at Dean. Cas watched Dean dote over his little brother. Humans were such strange creatures to him.

Dean twisted around to look up at Cas, "Well, that was unnecessarily dramatic! Where to now, _Judas_?"

* * *

"Alright, geek, how the hell are you planning to carve that with your bare hands?" Dean asked as he plopped down on the gravel floor of the dead forest.

Once they were beyond the distance that Cas wanted from the Ark, the angel had taken them to this nearby wood with the heavy plank torn by Sam from the historic ship. Dean watched Sam analyze that stupid log he nearly killed himself trying to yank out. Cas was standing behind them with his back to them, watching the grey clouds swell and darken above. Dean furrowed his brows when he noticed something strange about his little brother ... he wasn't little anymore.

Sam's face had a healthy albeit dim glow in his skin. His hands did not appear as boney as they had been mere hours ago. Dean saw that his brother's pectoral muscles were distending beneath Sam's shirt. His flopping brown hair didn't have a dull finish to it anymore. _When was the last time the kid had taken a shower anyway_?

Dean hoped it wasn't wishful thinking, hallucinating what was true. But, this was the best he has seen his brother look in too long. Aesthetically, Sam did appear to be in better health. But, Dean's heart sank when he saw how gingerly Sam was moving his body as though trying very hard not to move his torso.

Sam sighed, "I dunno, Dean. I really don't. How can I make this dull thing into a sharp blade?"

Cas gazed over his shoulder at Sam's back, "It is said that the vessel must 'find the weapon within the material'."

Sam glanced up at Cas then raised his eyebrows at Dean, "I feel like a kid who didn't study for a test and has a teacher breathing down his neck."

Dean gave a small smile, "I feel you, buddy."

Sam chuckled a shivering exhale, his breath curling before his pinked nose like cigarette smoke. It hurt terribly to breathe. He gripped one side of the gopher wood and pressed his fingers as hard as he could into it. The wood was like putty in his hands because his super-charged muscles had gone haywire in that split second. Sam grunted and gasped at the pain in his side.

His muscles around his chest contracted heavily, constricting the broken rib. Dean blinked disbelievingly. He knew it was impossible. Maybe the subzero temperature was messing with his brain ... or maybe he was finally paying for all the head related trauma he had endured throughout his life as a hunter. But, Dean could have sworn that he had seen something black pulsate all over Sam's large hands. What choked his throat from questioning what he had just witnessed was that he had also seen something even more strange than black veins ... there had been a small light blue spark that had ran up each of the black veins protruding beneath the skin of Sam's long fingers.

Sam was so lost in the agony reverberating from his ribs that he had not noticed this new development.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, watching Sam scrunch his face up in agony.

Sam gasped breathlessly, "I'm fine, Dean."

Dean placed a hand gently on Sam's breastbone and his little brother hissed at Dean's touch, sinking back from his brother's helping hand.

"Like hell," Dean beckoned Cas over with a wave of his hand, "Never thought you'd be useful again but Sam needs Dr. Angel to fix him up."

Cas frowned sadly at Dean who returned that pitiful gaze with a scowl. With great effort, Sam twisted on the spot to see Cas's crystal blue eyes. Sam knew with a painful ache in his stomach that the angel could not help him. Sam was no longer human and, judging by what Cas had said about Sam's metaphysical interference on the highway, his curse gave him strengths that surpassed those that the angel possessed. Sam sighed and cringed at the nauseating stitch that had erupted as a result on his side.

"It's just a sore, Dean." Sam insisted, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I have a higher threshold than you give me credit for."

Sam's hazel eyes nearly welled up at the mere thought of never seeing his brother again. The memories of losing Dean so many times just severed the strings of his heart. Sam didn't fear death, only being left behind and leaving people behind.

Dean met Sam's gaze and nodded reluctantly, "You always were a stubborn ass."

"I wonder where I learned it from," Sam gave Dean another small smile and patted his older brother's shoulder.

Dean clapped Sam on his lower back and Sam choked his pain-induced grunt in his throat, "What are you making, a cane?"

Sam blinked down at the wood from the Ark and saw that something had materialized there miraculously. There was a staff about as long as Dean's body lying in the ashes of the gopher wood.

"A cane for what? A giant?" Sam whispered to Dean as they both leaned in to inspect the unimpressive 'weapon'.

"Hard to believe there are people bigger than you," teased Dean who clapped Sam on the knee.

Cas rushed forward and knelt beside Sam, "How did you carve this? It was not this long -"

Sam shook his head, "I can't explain either one. All I did was break it."

"Well, will it still work?" Dean demanded impatiently. "Sam barely put a dent in it and now it's all fancy-like and raring to go!"

Sam slowly lowered his hand towards the staff, "He said that I'd have to 'find' it 'in the material', Dean."

"I guess this fits the criteria," Dean scoffed, squinting at it.

He held his breath as Sam wrapped his big hand around the staff and lifted it up off the gravel forest floor. The threatening storm clouds curling above them were darkening the earth below, drowning them all in its daunting shadow. The two brothers exhaled in relief that the long stick had not done anything out of the ordinary. Or perhaps this should concern them.

Dean helped lift Sam back to his feet, unable to ignore how much heavier his little brother had abruptly become. Sam could not explain the alarming change in his condition to Dean even if he told him about Lana unleashing his once-caged powers. One of his guesses was that gaining control over his abilities was strengthening his body elsewhere as well. Dean estimated that Sam was close to two-hundred pounds again judging by how much effort he now needed to lift him. Sam swayed on his feet for a moment then steadied himself with the staff.

Dean forced a playful grin while watching Sam inspect the wooden pole that was a tad taller than he was, "Don't ask how I know this, but you look like Gandalf."

Sam tore his gaze from the staff to look down at Dean, "You're just as much of a geek as I am, dude. It's about time you've accepted it."

Contrary to his stab at humor, the last thing Sam felt like doing was laughing. His heart was so heavy with thoughts of leaving Dean forever that he didn't have a single happy thought. Dean sensed a disturbing feeling of distance while looking up into Sam's eyes. Sam was breathing shallowly, wondering why Yellow-Eyes had not included super-healing abilities in Sam's demonic arsenal.

Dean rolled his eyes, "Whatever. You're still the biggest one." He turned to Cas whose eyes were fixed on the staff in Sam's hands, "What's next on your damn list of errands?"

Cas broke his stare to look at Dean, "Now we spread out and wait."

* * *

"You know, we do have a piñata for you to practice whacking that thing on," Dean said to Sam, gesturing with his thumb pointing back at Cas.

Sam looked back at Cas and shook his head, "That's okay."

"You sure? I bet it's cathartic," Dean smirked. "Well, I'd do it if I were you."

"There are lots of things that you'd do which I wouldn't touch with this pole," Sam joked humorlessly.

Dean said seriously, "Then there are times we'd pawn our lives to take each other's places."

Sam tilted his head sadly, "Dean, I have to face Lucifer alone."

"Why? Because of what that traitorous son-of-a-bitch said?" growled Dean. "Screw Cas and his stupid rules! He'll have to kill me to keep me away from your side."

Sam didn't have the energy to argue back, "Well, it _is_ you and me against the world."

"And that's how I choose to go out, Sammy." said Dean quietly. "It's my choice and you're dumb to think there is another for me."

Sam sighed, "Dean, sorry to bring this up ... but, if -"

" _If_ what?" Dean asked skeptically with a mild lip curl.

Sam felt like he was shrinking beneath his brother's gaze, "If I die -"

"You won't," interrupted Dean flatly.

Sam watched his brother walk a few yards away and finished under his breath, "It's not your fault."

Dean stopped at the edge of the cliff and dropped to his knees. Sam saw that his shoulders were trembling and decided against going over to try to comfort Dean. While making frequent glances over his shoulder, Sam put about fifty feet between him and his brother before he felt it was safe to practice. He had no choice but to try to get a grip on them without having something to eat first. His stomach was positively roaring.

If he tried to distend his belly, air bubbles would start popping in his stomach. Sam leaned the wooden staff against the trunk of a charred tree and, after taking about ten steps backwards, extended a hand towards it. Dean hung his legs over the edge of the cliff, wishing he had no responsibilities to live for so that he'd not feel guilty about 'accidentally' slipping off this ledge. Suddenly, the ground beneath him quaked so roughly that he bounced up and down twice. All the hairs on Dean's body were straightening up and his hands were clutching the sharp gravel.

He was breathing shallowly, "Careful what you wish for." Dean looked over his shoulder at the place where he had left Sam. "Sam!"

There was no answer. Dean frowned and got to his feet, finding that his legs were trembling from nearly swan diving off the edge of this cliff. But, what he saw on the ground nearly sent him retreating over the cliff. There was a massive indentation in the stones that he definitely would have noticed before. It was over fifty feet wide and about six feet deep in the solid granite of Mount Ararat.

"Sam!" Dean yelled out for his brother as he approached the giant... animal print.

Without warning, he was engulfed in a blinding glare of light. Dean staggered a little and barely kept himself from tottering off the edge of the cliff. An incessant ringing sound erupted in his ears and Dean dropped to the ground, clapping his dirty hands over his ears. It was similar to the first time he heard Castiel's real 'voice' in the abandoned gas station over a year ago when he was rescued from Hell. Only this one was much more powerful and he could feel hot blood pooling in the cavities of his ears.

The ground trembled again and Dean heard a baritone voice as though it was inside his head, "Goodbye, the Michael Sword."

The ground beneath Dean's feet vanished as the ground quaked again. After a moment, Dean wondered if he had already reached maximum velocity because he could no longer feel the stinging cold air slicing through his hair and rippling his inadequate clothes. Dean opened his eyes and saw that he was suspended before the cliff face just ten feet below the ledge. Before he could start to look for what had broken his fall ... he began to rise upward.

"What the hell?" Dean swore but once he was floating above the ledge of the cliff he saw something even more unbelievable than Lucifer's true form. "Sam?"

Sam was staggering toward him with his arm outstretched like he was offering his hand. After closer inspection, Dean noticed that Sam's elbow was completely snapped ... and that his brother's eyes were entirely black. But, there was something strange pulsating in the center of those black eyes. It was like a flickering blue flame struggling to grow in the suffocating darkness.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, feeling like an invisible boa was coiling around his entire body.

If his body were entirely in his control, Sam would have been crying hysterically over the agony of this broken arm. His bicep was pointed towards Dean but his forearm was dangling downward. He had summoned his strength so suddenly that his arm muscles snapped his elbow. His eyes were cold but there was a new feeling of warmth growing inside of them. Sam could see Dean reacting to this unceremonious and nonverbal confession.

Dean tilted his head and squinted closer at the pulsating blue flame in Sam's black eyes ... it was Sam's soul. He knew it had to be his little brother's spirit battling for control over his demonic curse. Dean realized that he had seen Sam's veins turn black when his brother had shattered the wood from the Ark. Not only that, but the flash of light blue through those veins had been Sam's soul fighting to reclaim dominance.

Dean nodded at his despairing little brother, "Come back to me, Sammy. _Focus_ ... focus on me, kiddo. You can do this ... I _believe_ in you!"

Suddenly, the blue flame flooded Sam's eyes and engulfed the black veins all over his face and body. His broken arm snapped erect again and Sam's body was flooded with warmth. His elbow had a reverberating tingling sensation like the ripples a drop of rain created on a lake. The blue glow lightened till it was nearly white but it did not blind Dean like Lucifer had.

Sam parted his lips, "Pick on someone your own size!"

Sam curled his fingers to his palm and Dean came rocketing into his little brother's broad chest. Dean clutched at Sam's coat and stared up into those shining white eyes.

Dean stuttered, "S-S-Sam? Is that you?" Sam pulled Dean in for a bone-crunching embrace and Dean gasped, "Yep, definitely you! Can't ... breathe!"

Sam set Dean back down on the ground and looked skyward at the 1,300-foot-tall outline of Lucifer. He was like a white shadow. Sam counted six massive heads with elongated necks and twelve looming wings, six on each side.

Dean looked up at Sam, "He's not quite your size, Sammy. For once, I think you've _overestimated_ your giant-ness."

"Sweet mother of -" Sam croaked as his glowing veins and eyes faded back to normal.

"Metallica," Dean finished in a whisper for him.

Sam moved between Dean and the gargantuan creature assembling before them. He recalled Castiel claiming that his true form had similar dimensions to the Chrysler building. Lucifer was quite a bit larger, though it felt unnecessary to the brothers. The fallen archangel, devil, ruler of hell, was looming over a thousand feet above them. It completely escaped their notice that their eyes had not been burned-out like Pamela's had when she saw Castiel.

Lucifer had a single head which morphed between six faces in quick succession at the end of a graceful neck. Sam caught glances of a vicious wolf, a snarling black leopard, the gnashing teeth of a crocodile, the pincers of a hairy tarantula, the hooked beak of a vulture, and lastly the fangs of a King Cobra dripping with potent venom. Lucifer halted at this head, hissing throatily as he lowered his head down to the brothers. The devil's body was comparable to an Arabian stallion except for the lack of a flowing mane and that he had the twitching tail and the hooves of a bull. Dean remembered Zachariah telling them that the devil was aesthetically pleasing to the eyes of those that weren't burnt to a crisp.

Sam flung out his arms to hide Dean whom growled, "Dude, get off of me!"

"For once in your life, trust me!" Sam shot over his shoulder at Dean struggling behind him.

Dean felt something invisible plant his feet into the ground and he scowled up at the back of Sam's head, "Not fair!"

"You little fools," Lucifer hissed thunderously, "you should not have trusted that little angel on your shoulders. Castiel has been tragically misinformed ... no man can defeat me."

Sam glared into those vertical slits of the serpent's golden eyes, "If you touch my brother, I'll scalp you! I'll rip your black heart out!"

Lucifer slit his scaly lips apart and laughed darkly, "Someone's been hitting the gym."

Sam maintained his composure while Dean made another attempt to move in front of him even with his feet stuck to the gravel, "I'd return the compliment but your head is already as big as your waist!"

Sam's eyes glowed instantaneously with his split-second command and Lucifer chuckled again, "Pretty lights don't intimidate me, Sam. You're going to have to do better than that."

Sam felt the shard of the staff he had broken off and stowed in the inside pocket of his coat, "Let's dance."

Lucifer mutated into the snapping jaws of the black wolf and lunged at Sam who quickly wiped out the sharp gopher wood and hooked it in the lip of the demonic canine. A roar of pain exploded from the back of the devil's throat as he recoiled his head with Sam dangling from his slobbering gum. Dean fell backwards with his boots still planted on the ground, screaming Sam's name.

"SAM!" he wailed as he felt someone else kneel at his side. " _Cas_?"

Castiel placed one hand on the toe of Dean's boots, "It took longer than normal to reconstitute my vessel."

"He killed you?" Dean's feet flopped on the ground in freedom. He had taken his eyes of Sam for one moment and now both the devil and his brother had vanished. "Lucifer! He's here! He took Sam!"

"To the Black Sea," Castiel nodded as he helped lift Dean to his feet. "We must make haste." Dean grasped Castiel's shoulder and the angel shook his head, "I wish we were taught the forgiveness my Father expects of his most precious creation."

Dean nodded, "Hope you packed our swim shorts."

* * *

Sam's hands were slick with the saliva and black blood dripping from Lucifer's lip. He redoubled his grip and yelped when the blade of the Ark ripped further down. Lucifer was growling ferociously, snapping his teeth together, rearing and bucking to unsettle Sam.

"I can taste your fear, Samuel Winchester." sneered the devil. "I am inside of you, my child ... I _am_ you!"

The shoreline surrounding the Black Sea was filling with potential casualties transfixed upon the titanic creature thrashing in the salty waves. Sam reached up and with a mighty tug he ripped a fang out with its root gushing blood. He was disturbed by how Lucifer did not react and decided to try ripping out the wooden stake pierced in the devil's curling lip.

Castiel and Dean pushed through the spectators pooling on the shoreline. Dean was clutching his father's journal to his chest and wadded out into the shallow water.

He flipped hungrily to the folded page and yelled aloud, " _Exorcizo te, creatura aquæ, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, et in nomine Jesu Christi, Filii ejus Domini nostri, et in virtute Spiritus Sancti: ut fias aqua exorcizata ad effugandam omnem potestatem inimici, et ipsum inimicum eradicare et explantare valeas cum angelis suis apostaticis, per virtutem ejusdem Domini nostri Jesu Christ: qui venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos et sæculum per ignem!_

 _Deus, qui ad salutem humani generis maxima quæque sacramenta in aquarum substantia condidisti: adesto propitius invocationibus nostris, et elemento huic, multimodis purificationibus præparato, virtutem tuæ benedictionis infunde; ut creatura tua, mysteriis tuis serviens, ad abigendos dæmones morbosque pellendos divinæ gratiæ sumat effectum; ut quidquid in domibus vel in locis fidelium hæc unda resperserit careat omni immunditia, liberetur a noxa. Non illic resideat spiritus pestilens, non aura corrumpens: discedant omnes insidiæ latentis inimici; et si quid est quod aut incolumitati habitantium invidet aut quieti, aspersione hujus aquæ effugiat: ut salubritas, per invocationem sancti tui nominis expetita, ab omnibus sit impugnationibus defensa! Per Dominum, amen!"_

Sam heard his brother's voice over Lucifer's taunts and smiled as steam rose around Lucifer, "Holy water. You're a genius, Dean."

Lucifer wheezed in the agony of the boiling sea, "That's the best of what the greatest hunters in all of history can come up with? A _hot tub_?"

Sam's muscles were straining painfully to maintain his slippery grip on the wooden blade, "Some like it hot, you son-of-a-bitch!"

Sam yanked out the blade and, as he tumbled through the air, he threw it with all his remaining strength towards Lucifer's barrel chest. The blade sliced through his coat like there was nothing there and struck at the devil's heart. Dean dove into the water when he saw his little brother fall. Lucifer reared up and fanned out his six pairs of wings. He flapped them uselessly as he sank beneath the water.

Sam gazed one more time up at the sun bursting through the agitated clouds, "Take care of my brother for me."

The last thing Sam heard was his brother's voice crying out his name before his body collided with the merciless waves.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

* * *

Dean was fighting a losing battle against the waves tossing him around and dragging him down like a ragdoll. Castiel had ordered three men to pull Dean out of the sea before he vanished into thin air.

" _Bekleyin, efendim! Biz sizin için geliyor!_ " Dean heard one of the three men in the boat call out to him but he was delirious with shock.

"SAM!" Dean gurgled, flailing his arms to remain above the thrashing waves. If anyone asked why he was crying, he'd blame it on the sea spray, "SAMMY?"

Dean spotted two fingers above the water slip beneath the surface. He took a deep breath and sank below the churning sea, ignoring the agonizing sting of the salty water as he watched a large, dark shape sink further and further. There were no bubbles rising from Sam's head. Dean fought against his lungs screaming for oxygen as he struck down to his brother. He was vaguely aware of the little speedboat circling where he had vanished overhead.

A moment later, he heard a loud splash but all he could focus his brain cells on, starved of oxygen, was getting a hold of Sam. Sam was at least twenty feet below him and quickly being consumed by the shadowy floor of the sea. His long brown hair was swaying around his peaceful face, his entire body was limp. Dean stretched both of his arms out vainly, veins popping in his forehead. Right before he lost consciousness, he felt something yank on the back of his leather coat.

When his head broke the surface, Dean gasped hungrily for air. The other two men in the boat helped tug both Dean and his rescuer out of the water. Dean collapsed on the floor of the boat, trembling from head to toe in the agonizingly cold air.

"What happened?" he said thickly with his teeth chattering together, "Where was I?"

" _Rab Teşekkür ederiz_!" all three of the men cheered while the one at the very back steered the propeller back towards the shore.

Dean gave a violent shake, "Where's Sammy?"

The man who had saved him from drowning gripped Dean's wrist, " _Þu an güvenli. Bu tamam."_

Dean blinked up at the man and repeated feverishly, "Where's Sam?"

" _Dinlenme, su içmek_ ," said the man sternly, handing Dean a wine bottle filled with water.

"Where's Sam?" Dean repeated, deaf to all else but the answer to that question.

The man shook his head and said with a heavy accent, "Fall killed him. Like hitting stone. I am sorry."

Dean glared up at him and lunged for the edge of the boat, still a few hundreds of feet away from the dock. Two of the mean, including his rescuer, latched onto his slippery leather coat to keep him from diving back into the treacherous ocean.

"SAM!" Dean roared at the water, trying to peal the men off of him. He then whimpered, " _Sam_! No, let me go! He's my brother! I can't leave him! I can't leave him! Sammy, I'm so sorry! _No_ , Sam! Forgive me, please."

Over seventy feet below the surface of the raging sea, Sam's body rested softly on the muddy sea floor.

* * *

Dean was pulled from the water before he could drown from exhaustion. He is forced to accept the fact that Sam was gone. In spite of how much pain it inflicted on his heart, Dean resisted making a deal to drag his dead brother back to him. On the anniversary of Sam's sacrifice, Dean would return to the beach and sit in the sand for hours, watching the sun set. He'd talk to the tide like he was talking to his brother. He confessed it all, as though it would make up for all the lies and deceit between them while Sam was alive. After fifteen long years dragged by, Dean passed away in his sleep. Death by a heart broken one too many times.

Dean's last words were,"Sam, my brother, didn't die human and he didn't die a monster ... he died a hero."

Sam died defeating Lucifer, halting the climax of the apocalypse. While the brothers are revered as saints by the religious and heroes by the non-believers, Sam and Dean have gone to a special place in the universe where all the people they've lost are waiting for them. Dean found himself walking along the sidewalk coiled around an apartment complex, searching each dorm he passed for a certain student enrolled here at Stanford University. He found it and was about to push open the window but he heard the door creak open. He took two steps at a time up the stairs and didn't hesitate at all while leaping over the threshold. There was one person waiting for him inside, the one he missed the most.

There stood Sam, twenty-two-year-old-mop-headed-bean-pole Sammy. When Dean spoke, he realized he had the voice he had when he was twenty-six. The voice that hadn't quite grown deep yet. It didn't have that growl that had strengthened with each person they had lost.

"Well, now I _know_ I'm in hell." said Dean. When Sam furrowed his soft brows, Dean explained with a grin, " _Hello_ , there's no pie!"

Sam's lips parted into the warmest, most contagious smile Dean had been missing for so long. Dean rubbed his eyes, even though he didn't feel tired. Now that he thought about it, he felt like he had an everlasting amount of energy.

Dean looked up at Sam, "I wish I just left you here this night. I wish I just stayed the hell away from you."

Sam shook his head and took a step forward, "I don't."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Bitch."

"Jerk," said Sam.


End file.
